


Sweet Tea And Road Dust

by e_wills



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, For a story that involves horses the plot actually has very little to do with horses, Horse!Stormfly, Horse!Toothless, Ranch hand AU, Romance, Southern high society, so romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-27 16:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15689418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_wills/pseuds/e_wills
Summary: Modern ranch hand AU. Astrid is the daughter of an established Southern family and Hiccup is the transient hired help for the summer, passing through on his way out to California for reasons he's keeping close to the chest. His devil-may-care attitude is very appealing to a young lady smothered by societal expectations.*sigh* I wasn't going to post this here. It's pure romance novel stuff, and yet, it's become one of my more unexpectedly popular and adored AUs over on Tumblr. After much consideration, I've decided to share it on this account. Maybe it will find some legs over here too?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bgsdragons](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bgsdragons).



“It’s no way for a horse to live,” Astrid’s father told her one afternoon as she peered into Toothless’s stall. A solid, black horse rested in the back corner, lame and defiant. Her father continued, “He’ll mind no one. Trust no one. Can’t blame him after what he’s been through, but it’s doing him a disservice to keep him here and let him suffer like this.”

“Let me see what I can do with him,” someone suggested.

Astrid and her father jumped. They hadn’t realized their hired ranch hand was in the stable with them. His thumbs were hooked on the pockets of his blue jeans, and he wore a smile that was unassuming and hopeful.

He went by only a nickname: Hiccup. He didn't bother to explain it when he turned up on their porch two months ago, and frankly, no one cared enough to ask. He kept mainly to himself, working on any task her father set for him with deft hands and commendable fastidiousness. Her father had put a help wanted ad in the paper, and Hiccup had all but materialized from a cloud of dust, hitching a ride in her brother-in-law's truck to apply for a job with nothing but his work ethic, earnestness, and desperate need for cash. Her father was happy to oblige cheap labor and no questions. Astrid couldn't say much else about him, other than his eyes were a shade of green that grass would envy. What brought him to their town, she couldn't say. Running from something, most likely. Family problems, if she had to guess. Such things were enough to send even the most free spirits packing.

But Astrid was home for the summer, between semesters at college. New and different didn't often happen in their town. She tried to ignore him; he could've been anybody, guilty of anything for all she knew, blowing in like a tumbleweed heading out West. But they'd keep crossing pass like the most irritating thread of serendipity.  Frequent near-collisions in the stables or at meal times had Astrid noticing things about the hired help she ought not to notice. It really was inconsiderate for him to parade around, and free and unattainable and _attractive_ as he was. "Don't stare," her mother scolded. He was the help, but it was, "Unbecoming."

Save face. Play poker, always. When a lady held her emotions, she held the cards.

“You’re sayin’ you can fix him?” Mr. Hofferson asked Hiccup, with a skeptical quirk of his brow. He jerked his head in Toothless's direction.

Astrid shook her head, crashing back to the present--and to Hiccup's sweaty, dirt-caked T-shirt that smelled like earth and hard work; more form-fitting than it had any right to be in her presence.

“No,” Hiccup replied. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I think he should be given a chance, don’t you?”

He sauntered over, and Astrid tried so very hard not to notice the snug fit of his worn denim. She was a southern debutante, raised on “yes ma’am” and sweet tea, and all the proper social graces. Ogling was beneath her manners. Supposedly. Not like anyone would approve. She was highly bred. Hiccup was from who-knows-where, and that simply wasn't a sufficient pedigree.

“I don’t have the time or the energy to sink into this horse. Certainly not the money, if there ain’t nothing for it,” her father said.

“Give me a week,” Hiccup pleaded. “If you see no change in him, then do what you’d like.”

He glanced at Toothless and the black stallion gazed back at him. Astrid couldn’t say for sure–-it was more of a gut feeling than anything else–-but she swore something passed between him and that horse.

“Fine. But work with him on your own time, son. The cattle still need minding,” Mr. Hofferson said. Hiccup gave a brief nod and Astrid’s father turned for the door. “You coming? Your Uncle Finn has been babying that brisket since lunch. I reckon it’s about ready now.” As an after thought, he said to Hiccup, “Save you a plate.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” Hiccup replied.

Astrid found it strange that he spoke without that same southern drawl that had surrounded her since birth, and poured from her own mouth without a thought. Hearing that foreign New England accent, and the absence of “ma’am” and “sir,” made her realize how ridiculous Southerners must sound to a Yankee. But in all fairness, Yankees sounded ridiculous to her. The nasal voice didn't help--but his genuine laugh, as rare as it was, more than made up the difference.

“I’ll be along in a while,” Astrid told her father. “I want to stay with Toothless for a bit…”

Her father nodded, trusting her implicitly around the hired ranch hand, never considering that she might find his tall, thin frame appealing over a proper, corn-fed southern gentleman—like that Ingerman boy from the next county over, with his family's bees and honey; almond trees and prized pig. Mr. Hofferson left the them to admire the skittish horse. Astrid was a lady, after all. Her mother had drilled that into her. That debutante ball had announced it to the rest of the county, like she was a prize cow, up for auction.

“What are you going to do for him?” Astrid asked, propping her leg up against the stall door, noticing the brief flicker of Hiccup’s eyes to her toned thigh.

She immediately lowered her leg. Perhaps it was not proper to parade around in her cut-offs in front of him–-but he was not a southern gentleman, so maybe the propriety could slacken a little. Her mother would chide her; she always did. Astrid would bite her tongue, stoppering the sass she wanted to spew. Whose decision was it to live in the Sweltering heat of the Geogria countryside anyway? Certainly not hers.

“Well, first I have to see if I can get him to trust me. Then I’ll see if I can get him to stand. The hope is to gradually get him walking again, depending on what the vet says when he gets here tomorrow…Your dad _is_ going to call him, right?”

Astrid nodded, only catching half the words he spoke; focused more to the way the way the his tongue poked thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek.

“Good," he replied. "Baby steps--but first things first.”

Astrid stepped back as he stall door swung open. Hiccup took slow, deliberate paces forward, holding his hands up in front of him. Toothless whinnied, ears twitching. He tossed his gorgeous head about, glossy mane catching the light. His flank quivered as he attempted to shrink away, trying to put weight on his front legs—one of which was injured. He folded up again, abandoning the effort with an irritated snort. His eyes were wild as he stared hiccup down. Astrid leaned into the stall door, gripping it tightly with bated breath.

“Easy there, bud. Easy,” Hiccup said calmly. Toothless continued to fidget, snorting.

“I know you don’t trust me yet. _I_ wouldn’t trust me yet…but I won’t hurt you.” Hiccup slipped one hand into his pocket and pulled out a sugar cube. Crouching down to seem less threatening, he offered it to Toothless with an open palm. “Here you go. Trust me. I’m here to help.”

Astrid watch in amazement as the hurt, fearful, and implacable horse sniffed at Hiccup’s hand. He took the sugar cube after just a moment's hesitation.

Hiccup smiled, stroking Toothless’ snout as the horse ate from his hand.

“Uhh, thanks for thoroughly cleaning my hand there, bud. Just be thankful it washes off,” he laughed. He continued to pet the horse as if toothless was the most docile creature.

Astrid’s brother-in-law, Eret, would’ve disagreed, nearly getting kicked in the stomach only a couple hours earlier trying to make a similar breakthrough.

“That’s incredible!” she exclaimed, leaning in.

She only noticed her cleavage was spilling out of her buttoned-down blouse when Hiccup suddenly glanced away, ears bright pink. Her face burned, and she straightened up, pinching the fabric closed.

“How do you know about horses, anyway?” she asked, trying to regain some dignity.

“I–er, that is… _my dad_ owns a bunch of land outside of Berk. That’s up near–”

“I know where Berk is,” she interrupted, frowning. It was somewhere in New England. Sure. Details.

“Oh, uh. Right. Of course. I didn’t mean anything by it, I just–“

“So, your dad owns a lot of land there?”

“Yes. He does,” Hiccup answered. Toothless was looking quite content as Hiccup stroked him “Lots of land, lots of horses. I’ve had practice.”

“That’s it?”

Hiccup furrowed his brow. “Uh…should there be more?”

Astrid rolled her eyes, unsure if he was being clever or if he was truly dense. “How does a boy from a rich family end up hitch-hiking his way across the country, picking up temporary work as a sparsely paid ranch hand?”

Hiccup didn’t answer. He just stared at Toothless, eyes distant as he reflected on the question.

Yep. Family problems, just as Astrid had assumed. But more interesting still was Hiccup has suddenly climbed several social strata that would make her mother's head spin. Astrid bit her lip, heart pounding--but for what, she wasn't sure. What would the revelation of Hiccup's family wealth lead to? He  _was_ just passing through; and her mother wouldn't let up about the eligible young  _gentlemen._

“Whatever,” she sighed, defeated. “I suppose everyone’s got their reasons.”

Hiccup pursed his lips, and she could almost see the cogs working inside his head. She was used to the strong, handsome, but rather simple kind of man—like Eret and Stanley Jorgenson—not the aloof, twiggy, and highly pensive kind. They just weren’t grown like that in small town Georgia. There had to be something different in that Yankee water.

Hiccup stood up, dusting the hay from his knees. Whatever plagued his thoughts was shoved away for the time being. His focus was on Toothless, and the horse seemed eerily fixated on him.

“Let’s see if you can get up, bud. Just try,” he told the horse like it could understand—but there was an unexpected softness in the animal’s eyes that had not been there all day.

Hiccup’s hand rested on Toothless’s head and he clicked his tongue. If Astrid had not been watching, she might not have believed that the horse pulled itself up with only a grunt and wobble; limping, but able to stand. Toothless's head was bowed into Hiccup’s touch.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” she murmured.

Hiccup grinned, patting Toothless approvingly. “Good job, bud!” He turned to Astrid. “I think _that_ might be some of the change your dad was looking for.”

“Looks like I’m getting another horse,” she said, hands on her hips.

“Maybe. After some stall rest and your vet takes a look at him.” Hiccup wiped the horse saliva on his jeans as he strode back out of the stall. “I still don’t recommend anybody else try to work with him just yet. We don’t need any other accidents like Eret–”

Astrid grabbed him by the collar of his white T-shirt. It had been two months of watching him ride horses with windswept hair, two months of stumbling across him working on small repairs around the ranch, with his rolled up sleeves and those too-tight jeans. It was all of the times she had handed him a glass of water or sweet tea, and his face lit up with that appreciative smile. Then it was in the stables with that wounded horse, working small miracles like it was no big deal, like he did that sort of thing everyday. Perhaps he did, though Astrid didn’t want to believe it as she kissed him. It would be that much harder to accept he was transient, fated to be gone with the first hint of autumn.

“Um…Miss Hofferson?” he asked against her forward lips.

His hand hovered awkwardly by her shoulder, hesitant to touch her in any way. He was polite in a manner that was inherent, not learned behavior from rigid social expectations—not like it was in her town, where everything was plastic and polished.

She pulled back, clearing her throat. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’ve never had the pleasure of being kissed before?”

He laughed, nervous and uncertain. “No. I, uh…I’ve done my fair share of…of kissing.”

“What was her name?” Astrid asked.

She was breaking all the rules of manners and courtship, but she didn’t care. Not when she was alone in those stables with Hiccup—a strange young man with his strange ways, which she only had another month or so to learn before he disappeared down that dirt road, fading into a memory that she would someday come to wonder was ever real at all. She was supposed to be beyond such desperation, but Hiccup was the only person for miles who didn’t give a damn about what made a fine Southern woman. “Heather. That was her name,” he answered, lightly gripping her arms when she pressed into him.

“Is she the reason you left?”

He smiled ruefully. “It’s complicated.”

Astrid brushed her lips over his again, feeling his shaky exhale.

“Does this complicate things?”

“Only if your father catches us,” he answered, and standing so close.

“Would that really be so bad? After all, you’ll just be gone again soon.” She felt a pang in her chest. He was a lifeline—an escape from being molded into the perfect, well-mannered, high-class clone of her mother, and all the strong, but socially sensitive Hofferson women that came before her.

“Yes. I have to leave,” he said, with neither delay nor sadness.

There was the briefest tone of regret as the warmth between them grew comfortable and intoxicating, so she kissed him deeply. The hints of sweat, leather, and dust as he pulled her into him, reciprocating, were easily overwhelming. It wouldn’t last, their summer dalliance. It couldn’t last—but Astrid lived in the present, for the way he tasted like the freedom he chased, out on those dirt roads to somewhere.


	2. Chapter 2

Astrid couldn’t focus as the pastor droned on from the pulpit, delivering his weekly dose of guilt. He was in the middle of a two-month series of sermons on the deadly sins and the ways in which to overcome them. He had already gone through the dangers of gluttony, vanity, and avarice to one’s immortal soul in the preceeding weeks. That Sunday, it was the particularly damning temptations of lust that had Pastor McNeill so riled up with righteous fury.

Astrid did not understand what it was about human sexuality and fornication that was so threatening, inherently more evil to the Christian mind than dishonesty and greed, regardless if it occurred between two consenting adults. It had been drilled into her since she was younger. Sex was something naughty and taboo to discuss, never to be pursued outside of marriage if one was to be a proper lady.

 _Especially_ if one was to be a proper Southern lady.

The boys seemed to get more of a pass-–their missteps being swept under a proverbial rug of “boys will be boys.” She had stopped listening to McNeill’s position on the subject years ago, when it had come to light that he was sending inappropriate e-mails to a widow he had been consoling. That had been dealt with rather quietly, and the woman in question had stopped coming to church one day. It was then, around the age of sixteen, that Astrid determined she would make up her own mind about such personal and fiercely private things. What she did, or did not do, was between her and God.

So, she gave into less than wholesome, nagging thoughts about their temporary ranch hand, and how they had kissed in the stables a week earlier. More distressing was the notion he had been avoiding her since, consumed by his work, and quickly brushing past her when he wasn’t. He spent more time with Eret, drinking beers on the front porch when they weren’t herding cattle or stacking hay bales. He was coming out of his shell so late into his employment, bonding with Eret unlike anyone else. As far as Astrid knew, Hiccup was only twenty, but Eret would pass him a cold bottle and pop the cap with a chuckling,“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Astrid resented their friendship and Hiccup's sudden change of heart.

There was a thunderous rumble as the congregation stood for the closing prayer. Astrid rose to her feet automatically, bowing her head obediently as Pastor McNeill besceeched God to keep their thoughts pure for the week, until next service.  She heard his words but they swirled around aimlessly in her ears. Her brain was preoccupied with how neutral she tried to be when inviting Hiccup to church that morning, and how politely, yet resolutely, he had declined.

“You don’t believe?” Astrid had asked, trying to keep the accusation from her voice.

She had her complaints with her faith, but it was something deeply ingrained in the South--like the love of barbecue and pecan pie. Hiccup only laughed softly. A sound, Astrid decided, was far more comforting than it had any right to be.

“In God? Jesus?” Hiccup clarified, glancing up for a brief moment before he continued nailing a new plank to the roof on their chicken coop. “I do, actually.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Their sweltering Georgia mornings were rough on his northern blood. “It’s the church I don’t believe in.”

There was a profound wisdom in his unorthodox view, rather unpopular in the country’s Bible Belt. It only made him more intriguing.

Astrid’s attention snapped back to the prayer as Pastor McNeill concluded, “In Jesus’s name, we pray…”

“ _Amen_ ,” the congregation murmured together.

The piano came to life, singing the same joyous recessional it did every Sunday, meant to imbue them with spiritual verve after sitting through an hour-long lecture on their moral failings. Astrid could not sidle out of the hard, austere pew fast enough.

She meant to retreat for the doors, seeking the safety of the family SUV, but she was blocked by a gaggle of heavily made-up women, with their bright acrylic nails and big, bleached hair. Her mother appeared at her back, and she was wedged between plastic smiles and pleasantries, fake tans and penciled-on eyebrows.

Astrid clasped her hands in front of her, forcing a geniality to accompany all of her “yes ma'am.”

“You get more lovey every week,” one of the women said. Mrs. Foley, her third-grade math teacher. “I can’t imagine why you haven’t been snatched up yet.”

Astrid had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Yes, finding a respectable young man would be the pinnacle of her accomplishments as a Southern socialite. Not graduating from high school with honors, being captain of the volley ball team when they won state, or being accepted priority admission to Mercer. Her successes were measured in her place among the community, marrying into a respectable family. What was a woman’s personal achievements in a town with so much old money?

“I’m only home for the summer,” Astrid answered. “I haven’t had much time for boys.”

Another woman, a full-time trophy wife, clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Bless your heart.”

Astrid bristled at the delicate insult, a backhanded endearment of condescension. Her well-practiced smile wavered and she murmured a soft, “Excuse me.”

She weaved her way around her mom’s friends, glowering once her back was two them. She uttered a halfhearted “Thank you” to the two men holding open the doors. She knew them, of course: her volleyball coach and the mayor’s son. In small town Georgia, everyone knew everyone else. The entire world was confined to the the town limits. One person’s mistake became the source of gossip for weeks. Astrid cared very little for news of people being, well,  _people._  She loathed walking on eggshells in public, fearing she’d become the next hot topic of conversation.

She strode out into the parking lot, gravel crunching under her wedges. The warm breeze assaulted her bare legs, rustling her blue paisley sundress in a way that might be scandalous if anyone paid her any mind. She wrenched open the door of her parents’ immaculate burgundy SUV, hopping into the passenger seat and tossing her shoes to the floor. She kicked her feet up on the dash, propping the door open while she waited for her parents to grow weary of small talk–-something what was much harder than is should be in the South.

A quick jerk of a lever knocked the seat back, and Astrid sighed heavily as she gazed up at the sunroof, contemplating her plans to find a job in Macon during the next semester, so she wouldn’t need to return home to a place where everyone knew her business. Anonymity sounded divine.

She heard approaching footsteps. Excited little shuffles, scattering gravel. Her head lolled to the side, and she could not help the grin as her best friend, Rochelle Thortson, leaned into the car door.

One year, nicknames had caught on like wildfire among their freshman class, particularly among the sports teams. Rochelle was an animal on the volleyball court, almost as much as Astrid. She also had the reputation for being a bit of an oddball, which she embraced. She had been bestowed the honorable nickname of Ruffnut, a bruiser both on the court, and off.

She lightly punched Astrid in the shoulder as a greeting.

“You haven’t returned my texts!” Ruffnut idly tapped her nails against the window. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No. Why would I do that? We’re rooming together this semester. I’ve just been busy with the horses.”

“I thought that’s what the hired help was for?” Ruffnut folded her arms.

Astrid should not have been so surprised that her friend knew, given that nothing was a secret for long–not that a temporary ranch hand was anything scandalous. The kiss in the barn, however, when Astrid thought she might combust from the friction of her chest against his and her bare legs rubbing against his denim…her face burned. She tucked her loose blonde curls on top of her head, holding them off her damp neck. “It’s hotter than Atlanta asphalt out here.”

“I heard he’s young. Our age?” Ruffnut’s lips twitched mischievously. “You should invite him to brunch.”

“ _Why?_  So you can make a pass at him?” Astrid narrowed her eyes and Ruffnut shrugged. She never cared about her reputation, openly flirting with whomever was eligible around town, and shedding all inhibitions at Mercer.

Astrid sometimes wished she could be so indifferent to the opinion’s of others, of her parents, but the predisposition to care was in her DNA, nourished by years of proper social grooming. “I can’t invite him anyway. He doesn’t have a cell phone, or a car.”

Ruffnut snorted in disbelief. “Who  _doesn’t_  have a cell phone? My granny has a cell phone, and she still thinks computers are, like…witchcraft. What kinda person doesn’t even have an old brick?”

Astrid sat up straight as her parents emerged from the church. She muttered, as she fixed the seat with another tug of the lever, “Someone who wants to be unreachable.”

 

* * *

 

  
The SUV rocked and lurched as it rolled down the long, unpaved drive to the Hofferson property. Astrid had moved to the back seat, rubbing her distended stomach, fit to explode with Sunday brunch. Tradition was lifeblood of the South, and after church–- _always_  after, rain or shine–-the Hoffersons and Thorstons drove in a caravan to a local cafe serving dressed-up versions of Southern staples: beignets, cheese grits, chicken and waffles, just to name a few; and bottomless mimosas for those lucky enough to be of legal drinking age.

Astrid still had another half a year to go.

Magnolia trees flashed by the window, casting their shade on on the dirt road, and her temple rested against the glass, noting the large, white flowers interspersed among the leaves. She had always liked them, the fragrant ivory sentinels. They never complained, rooted to the trees that kept them bound in place. Sometimes, she envied their contentment.

“I guess he’s got that horse moving?” her father said, craning his neck toward the stables.

“Oh, good,” her mother replied, with a halfhearted enthusiasm that plainly meant she couldn’t care less about the progress of even one more horse.

Astrid twisted in her seat, peering into the stables as they drove by. She could make out the swish of Toothless’ long tail as he turned back into the building.

“Stop!” She eagerly unfastened her seat-belt. “I’m getting out!”

“Wha–? Astrid!” her mother exclaimed as Astrid opened the door, ignoring the incessant chiming of the SUV, warning that a seatbelt was prematurely unbuckled.

The car slowed, but Astrid hopped out of it before it stopped. She kicked off her wedge sandals, picking them up and running toward the stables. She luxuriated in the warm grass on her soles of her feet. It was like she was a child again, sprinting around the property with no shoes on, being chased by her cousins as the cicadas hummed in the trees. Her mother did not approve of dirty feet trotting on her pristine, plush carpet, but Astrid would rinse them off later. With her free hand, she bunched up her dress to keep it from flapping wildly around her knees as she ran. Her modest, cream-colored sweater was stifling in the heat, and she shrugged it off the moment she was inside the stables, hidden from her mother’s scrutiny.

Hooves clopped along the cement floor, covered with hay. It was a disjointed rhythm as Toothless limped along, hand-led by Hiccup.

“Great job, bud,” he murmured to the horse. “We’ll take this nice and slow.”

Astrid watched, draping her sweater over an empty stall. There was hardly anything modest about the thin straps holding up her plunging neckline. Comfort was second to modesty in the scorching summers, especially for church; but there was nothing sacred and holy about the stables, and the way Hiccup’s jeans hugged his backside as he paced alongside Toothless.

When they reached one end of the building, Hiccup guided the horse back around in a wide arc. They were doing laps in the considerably short distance from one end of the stables to the other. A redundant path to condition Toothless’ ailing limb to bear weight.

Hiccup gave the faintest of starts when she saw Astrid, and the horse froze for a moment, as if he sensed his handler’s disquiet. Black ears twitched anxiously in time with blinking, green eyes.

“Miss Hofferson! I-I, uh…I didn’t know you were back yet,” he said, taking a step forward and easing Toothless back into a familiar stride.  "I hope your father isn’t upset. He wanted me to repair that fence while you were gone, but I thought I had a moment to–“

“It’s fine. We just got back,” she answered, leaning against a stall to give them room.

Hiccup nodded, but did not make direct eye contact with her. He had developed this strange habit for looking in her general direction without meeting her gaze. As they spoke, he seemed determinedly focused on Toothless, though the horse managed well enough, all things considered.

“How is his leg?” Astrid asked at the same moment Hiccup inquired, “How was church?”

“Fine,” they said in unison. There was a very pregnant silence between them, punctured only by heavy hoof beats.

“Just fine?” Astrid continued, folding her arms across her chest. “You’ve got him walking in less than a week.”

“Better than fine,” Hiccup amended. His eyes flickered to hers for a moment, and his small smile made her stomach clench, forgetting for a moment that they had regressed into awkward strangers in the wake of an impromptu kiss. He quickly glanced away. “His healing is more to thank for that than anything I’ve done, really.”

“You got him to stand. To cooperate. That’s more than my brother-in-law could do and he’s the self-proclaimed expert ‘round here.”

“I’ll definitely have him ready to ride before I leave in a few weeks.” He and Toothless turned for another lap.

There was an unexpected sharp, pang in her chest. A feeling of impending loss gnawed at her with greater ferocity than it should for a man she hardly knew; for a man that kept secrets and offered only a nickname to know him by. There was no reason to care if he stayed or went; no reason to be disappointed if she never felt his lips again.

That kiss had been foolish, on her part. She had fallen for his humble allure which was magnified by the fact that he was something  _different_ —unconventional and foreign to her town. That had been enough to make her want him; he was as close to an escape as she could get, for an unemployed college undergrad. She had abandoned reason and she could kick herself for failing to realize she was probably not the first girl he had encountered on his cross-country trek. Hiccup had probably spent time in other towns with other young women, wooing them with his charming smile and fading blue jeans. 

There would be another woman after her, too.

“So, you’re just gonna to hitch a ride all the way to California?” she asked.

He chuckled, petting Toothless as the horse nudged him. “Uh, no. I’ve saved up what I’ve earned here for a bus ticket and a seedy hotel room—maybe enough for a greasy cheeseburger at some beat-up old highway diner, if I’m lucky.”

She wrinkled her nose, puzzled how he could find such a life appealing. 

They were not compatible, she told herself. There was reason to think of him as anything more than the hired help; a temporary acquaintance.

“What do you plan to do when you actually get there?”

He shrugged and Astrid rolled her eyes. 

That was it, she decided: the deathblow to her attraction to him. He lacked any sort of direction or ambition in life, content to be a wandering vagabond in weathered boots.  _She_  was upward bound, with aspirations of law school and a high powered career to support a future of  _her_  choosing.

“I haven’t thought that far in advance,” he said. “I just needed to get out of Berk. It was a leap of faith, I guess. I thought, if I wanted it bad enough, I could figure the rest out as I went. I’m not dead yet, so…”

“Wanted  _what_ bad enough?”

“Freedom.” 

Their eyes met, a whole history was contained in a look, but it was fleeting. He smiled with that boyish energy and innocence, not befitting someone running from an entire life.

He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. “Sorry. That sounds so cheesy, doesn’t it? I’m full of such earth-shattering asininities.”

It didn’t sound cheesy, though. It should have, but it didn’t. It was profound, if he was truly living that dream, and suddenly Astrid’s attempt to find him unappealing crumbled around her. 

She could relate, though he possessed the fortitude to take the steps she couldn’t. He was the manifestation of what she wanted in life: the opportunities, the  _choice_. She wanted to be unhinged from any and all expectations of others.

“Not as cheesy as you may think,” she replied, kicking lightly at trampled hay with her flawlessly pedicured toes. Her mother would not approve. “You should try to enjoy the moment you’re livin’ in, though, instead of focusing so much on what has been, and what comes next.”

“Oh, I was unaware this was a therapy session,” he teased, guiding Toothless back into his stall with a click of his tongue and a pat on the horse’s flank. “Are you trying to rationalize my wanderlust?”

“Maybe I should charge you?” she fired back, sweeping one of her straps back over her shoulder as it crept down her arm.

“I’m sorry, Miss Hofferson, but I simply cannot afford all the pearls of unsolicited advice. I can barely afford enough ramen noddles to sustain me from the local Winn Dixie. I simply refuse to have your mother cook my every meal.” 

He closed the latch on Toothless’s stall.

He spoke about how broke he was with a lightheartedness she would have never expected from someone who came from money. It was as if his entire situation was a joke, like there wasn’t any real demons he was fleeing from.

Astrid wanted him to stop running. She wanted him to find something that could ground him. He demonstrated that could be brilliant when focused on a goal, like healing Toothless. There were other things to focus on; other goals to which he could dedicate himself in rural Georgia.

“There’s another way you could pay me…unless you want to keep pretending nothing happened,” she said with a haughty tilt of her chin. 

She was not ashamed of it anymore—that one hasty decision she had made in a while that was truly for herself. He shouldn’t regret the kiss either. What she and Hiccup were, was rebellion. They were a break from the status quo.

Hiccup paused, considering her for a moment. He pursued his lips as he strode toward the door, grabbing his baseball cap from where it hung on a peg. He dusted it on his jeans, but there was a fine layer of persistent dirt that seemed to be the uniform of any diligent ranch hand.

“Miss Hofferson–”

“Astrid, please. If you saw fit to kiss me once, you might as well call me by my first name,” she interrupted.

“Okay.  _Astrid_. The problem with living in the moment…there comes a day when you eventually catch up to the future, and suddenly there are things you have to answer for.”

“And then you have nothing but regret? Regret about whatever happened in Berk? Regret about one kiss in these stables?”

“No. I don’t regret  _that_ ,” he answered, pressing his hat onto his hair, already damp with sweat. He picked up a toolbox nestled in the corner by the empty stall adjacent to her. Their eyes met. “So, let’s not give ourselves reason to.”

He left her then, with all her frustration and a confusing mass of disdain and admiration. He was a walking enigma of lanky proportions that she should’ve disregarded, and would’ve done so only a few years ago. Yet, somehow, a childhood trapped in an unchanging town was enough for Astrid to reaching her breaking point. What was once the comfort of predictability had become a smothering routine, drowning her in a tide of conformity from which she couldn’t free herself. She needed a lifeline, and then Hiccup had appeared, with his old clothes, lithe muscle, and a burgeoning tan. Whatever it was she felt for him—be it genuine attraction or the enticement of hope—she was reaching for whatever little piece of himself he would give.

He was her excuse; her permission to be daring and unsophisticated. He was nonjudgmental and accepting of  _her_ , and she needed him, if even for a week, to keep her head above the water and breathe. But as she walked by him, trudging her way back to the house, he didn’t even glance in her direction.

He just seemed content to let her drown.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Astrid watched a bead of condensation slip down her tinted glass to fatten the ring soaking through her napkin. Forks scraped against glaringly white plates, which was still more interesting than the excited chatter around her. She narrowed her eyes, grasped her drink, and swallowed a mouthful of refreshing, sugary tea. The burst of sweetness washing over her tongue did very little to overpower the bitter remark that fought to spill from her lips. 

She set her glass down a little too forcefully and she caught her mother’s sharp eye, though there was not the slightest stumble in conversation. Suddenly, Astrid’s collard greens were mouth-watering, and she began wolfing them down as she sat with perfect, rigid posture.

“I hear Janet’s daughter–-the one with that real frizzy hair–-has been running around with those Peterson boys,” her mother said, peering grimly at her gossip party over her sweet tea.

Astrid had been roped into lunch with the middle-aged, fountain of youth-chasing women her mother claimed were friends. She didn’t know how someone could complain so much about a group of people behind their backs and still consider them good company.

“Oh, I’ve never liked those boys!” one of the other women stated, furrowing her brow-–or she would have, were it not for the botox. “Driving around in that beat up ol’ truck all hours of the night. Speeding down Main Street like they own the place!”

“Their clothes are always so filfthy, too. And their grubby fingers!” Another women shook her head, and it was unnatural how little her bleach-blonde curls moved. 

Astrid wondered, vaguely, how many cans of hairspray had died that morning.

Perhaps college had made her cynical, exposing her to a world beyond her hometown? She couldn’t stand the cattiness. It was almost like a contest to see who could be the most affronted by the harmless behavior of the less privileged in the community–-those individuals they did not see fit to kiss their overpriced stilettos.

“Well, the Petersons _are_  mechanics. Pretty good ones, too. Maybe flawless nails are not high on their priority list?” Astrid spoke up, reveling in the scandalized glances aimed at her.

She felt her mother nudge her sharply beneath the table with her pointed-toed shoe. It came with a warning glance: an inherently threatening cooling of the eyes gifted only by motherhood. Once, it had been effective, back when parents were infallible and the family estate was the center of the universe.

Astrid planted her hands flat against the floral table cloth, bracing herself with her tongue in her cheek.  She stared back at her mother with false smile and a defiant heart. 

“May I be excused?” 

She didn’t wait for an answer.

Standing up, she grabbed a parting roll of cornbread and her nearly empty plate. The indignant squawking that would fill her absence was sure to be impressive.

She strode back into the house, glad to feel the chilly embrace of the AC and hear the no-nonsense talk between her father and Eret drifting from the kitchen. The creaking floors of an old, country home announced her presence. The men glanced up as she rounded the corner. There was a third pair of eyes she hadn’t expected: green, and innately curious.

Her stomach did a somersault, and she edged past Eret standing on the other side of the center island; a comfortable distance from lethal blue jeans and rolled up sleeves. 

Her hair stood on end as she rinsed her plate in sink. 

“I’m impressed with the amount of progress you’ve made with that horse,” her father said. “When we got him, there was no moving him. He was skittish and distrusting of everyone, but he’s seemed to take a real liking to you.”

Astrid heard the clink of a beer bottle set down on the granite counter top.

“He was just scared. Whoever handled him before really mistreated him. There’s old scars and newer ones. He’d been abused for a while,” Hiccup explained.

“Makes sense why he wouldn’t let anyone go near him,” Eret mused.

“Yeah, all big and brawny like you are–” Hiccup began, and Eret laughed. Astrid envied their rapport, untarnished by impulsive kisses and anatomical differences. “I guess he needed someone to be as vulnerable as he was.”

“Well, there’s hardly anything less threatening than a string bean,” Eret retorted.

“Is he letting you ride him now?” her father asked.

“His leg has healed enough where I could, if we just went for an easy ride. I’ll try my luck with him today–”

“Can I come along?” Astrid asked, turning off the faucet and plunging the kitchen into palpable silence. 

She faced the men, all staring at her curiously. Her eagerness to be alone with the ranch hand was unconventional at best. Eret’s beer was poised at his lips with a dark eyebrow quirked in amusement. Her father was a bit more suspicious, and Hiccup gazed back her with polite bewilderment. 

Astrid swallowed dryly under such uncomfortable scrutiny. 

“I’ve been watching Toothless get better for almost a month now,” she said. “I’m interested to see how he does. Besides, I really should take Stormfly out. That is, if you wouldn’t mind the company.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind,” Hiccup replied. “I just have a bit of work to do first. We’re looking at a ride sometime after dinner.”

“Great! Come and find me.” She almost grimaced at her own words and how terribly forward they sounded. There was a noticeable jump of Hiccup’s eyebrows that made her want to hide behind her hands.

“Yes ma'am,” he grinned and she glared at him, certain he was mocking her.

* * *

  
Astrid tried not to be too self-conscious about the way the sun highlighted the bare expanse of her inner thighs in cuffed shorts. The stagnate summer heat did little favor for modesty, but Hiccup seemed not to notice. He was preoccupied with Toothless’s progress as the horse trotted along in front of Stormfly.

Toothless was truly a gorgeous specimen, with a glossy coat as black as a moonless night. There was real power in him, though he was docile under Hiccup’s attention. Astrid could see the fading scars,  obvious when the sunlight hit them. It did little to diminish his tragic beauty. With all the abuse the horse had suffered, it was a wonder the leg injury had not been more severe. He was recovering nicely, but still wary if anyone but Hiccup approached his stall.

“It might be a real problem when you leave,” Astrid said, nudging Stormfly into a faster cadence. They matched pace with Hiccup and Toothless. “I don’t know if he’ll warm up to anyone else.”

“That’s not true. He let you brush him last week,” Hiccup replied.

Astrid stared at him, mouth in a skeptical line. “Only because you were there, mucking out Stormfly’s stall and pretending to ignore me.”

“I wasn’t pretending to ignore you,” Hiccup muttered, shifting in his saddle and not quite meeting her eye.

“Okay. So, you were  _actually_ ignoring me, then.”

Astrid took secret pleasure in his aggravated sigh, the way his mouth slanted and eyebrows knitted. Every tiny nuance of expression was reflected in his eyes and shifted the pattern of his freckles on his face. She was used to fake smiles and plastered-on concern; laugh lines and forehead wrinkles filled in with makeup. There was something about Hiccup that was genuine and captivating.

“I was _working_ , actually. You know…the whole point to me staying here through the summer?” he retorted.

“Of course,” Astrid glanced ahead at the bend in the trail curling into a thicket of trees. Her face fell a little as she considered the rapid approach of summer’s end. “You’ve got a week left.” She forced a well-rehearsed Southern smile. “Excited to move on?”

Hiccup shrugged. “Georgia has it’s charms.”

“Not enough of them to make you stay?”

“And, what? Be the hired ranch hand for the rest of my days? Surviving off a diet of ramen noodles and Eret’s PBR?” he chuckled, then leaned forward to pat Toothless wistfully. “No. I can’t stay. Not even for you, bud.”

Astrid glowered down at the dirt path ahead of them, furious that Hiccup was leaving and taking his carefree outlook on life with him. She would be left behind to fall back into the predictable and the dull, surrounded by contentment with the expected, and a disdain for anything risky and different. Hiccup was his own soul, independent of Southern attitudes, and everything Astrid wished she could have.

“Come with me,” she said, urging Stormfly into a light gallop.

Hiccup followed her with a puzzled look on his face, slower than she was sure Toothless could move, but that leg was still on the mend. He chased her beneath the canopy of trees, passing through shade and rustling patches of sunlight.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they veered off the red clay trail. They cut through an open field of high grass outside the bounds of the Hofferson property.

“I’m surprised you care,” Astrid replied, smirking over her shoulder. “I thought straying from the beaten path was kind of your thing?” She bit her lip, heart fluttering at the grin that spread across his face. She felt a rush of giddy excitement. She nudged her horse. “Go, Stormfly! Go!”

They raced, or rather, they would’ve if it were not for the intentional way she eased up whenever her horse pulled too far ahead, knowing Toothless was not yet ready for a full sprint. She wanted Hiccup close behind her, pursuing her as fast as his horse would allow, with that competitive gleam in his eyes that made her feel, for a moment, like she was his sole focus–-like his mind  _wasn’t_ plagued by people and places of elsewhere.

“This isn’t exactly fair, is it?” he laughed. “I have a lame horse!”

“I’m not sure Toothless agrees with you.”

The black stallion grunted, kicking up flecks of earth with his thunderous hoof beats. He seemed invested in their little game, unaware that it was for show; a flirtatious display between human beings. Hiccup shook his head ruefully, pulling back on the reins and slowing Toothless into a jog as Stormfly canted around them in wide circles.

“Now, that’s just cruel, teasing him like that.” Hiccup scratched the horse’s ears. They twitched and flicked as Toothless snorted in frustration. “He doesn’t like to lose.”

“So, you can read his mind, too? Kindred spirits?” Astrid teased, guiding Stormfly amble beside them again. “Hiccup, the horse whisperer.”

Hiccup scoffed. 

“Horse whisperer?” he mused. “No. He’s just spirited. It’s not hard to understand. I was spirited once.” Astrid laughed and he chuckled with her. “ _Once_. It was a phase but, uh…I’m over it now. Thank God.”

“Mhmm. Nothing wild about the urge to up and abandon your life without so much a single dollar in your pocket, and move to the opposite end of the country without any place to stay or job prospects…”

“Well, you make it sound reckless and irresponsible when you phrase it like that.” 

He was still grinning, ever the unruffled wanderer destitute by choice, living off the generosity and trust of others.

“You didn’t murder someone, did you?” she asked him, narrowing her eyes.

“Mur– _What?_  No!” He was taken aback. Appalled. “Do you really think I’d–”

“I hardly know anything about you, Mr. Haddock, and my family doesn’t need to end up as a Dateline special.”

He rolled his eyes, grumbling, “It would certainly satisfy this town’s need for gossip for the next decade.”

Astrid immediately forgot her line of interrogation once he had picked at that emotional scab. The heap of frustration that had been collecting behind her social graces came bursting out in the safety of a neutral party.

“Agh! This town!” she hissed, dropping her hands in her lap. “Everyone’s always in everyone else’s business. It’s a collection of the small-minded, all living in the same municipality.”

“I’ve never understood the fascination, myself–-with other people’s personal lives, I mean,” he replied.

“That makes you a rarity around here.”

“How do you stand it, if you hate it so much?”

“The small glimmer of hope I can get a degree in something worthwhile and move somewhere– _-anywhere_ outside of Small Town, USA.”

She had a brief mental image of herself on a California beach somewhere, and she wasn’t alone on the hot sand...

“Where would you go?” Hiccup asked.

Astrid opened her mouth to answer, but then she shot him a sly smile with a coquettish little shake of her shoulders. “I thought you weren’t fascinated with people’s personal lives.”

“People, no–-but  _you’re_  not ‘people’. You’re Astrid Hofferson. A smart–-and forgive me if I’m being bold-–pretty girl, stuck in a town where she doesn’t fit. Obviously miserable.”

She might have fixated on the compliment to her appearance, but if Hiccup saw straight through her carefully executed Southern etiquette, she wondered who else could.

“ _Obviously?_ ” Astrid retorted.

“Yeah. To me, anyway. I haven’t been brought up to buy into all the disingenuous pleasantries. That empty smile of yours, no matter how well-practiced, is still plastic. I can recognize it from a mile away.”

“Well, if I’m not your cup of tea, why so intrigued?”

“Because that’s not you. That’s who  _they_  want you to be. No, you’re the girl who kissed me in the stables, rolls her eyes at the surrounding gossip when you think no one’s looking. You’re the girl that looks at superficiality and wonders what’s the point of it all. I think that girl is worth knowing.”

Astrid felt her face burn with brilliant hues to match the fiery bands of the setting sun—and she was angry about it.

It was not fair that he could show up out of nowhere, inspire all kinds of foreign and thrilling feelings, pull back when she tried to get closer, then leave as if he were a fleeting daydream. She was tired of reeling; tired of being a tire spinning fruitlessly in the mud. In a week, he would be gone, but there was going to be more to the memory of him than her girlish yearning. She was determined to make it so.

“Come on,” she said, “I have something to show you.”

She nudged Stormfly into a quick gallop, bounding for the treeline on the opposite end of the vast, unploughed fields. They were trespassing on someone else’s land, but she couldn’t care less.

“Wh–? H-Hey, Astrid? Hey!” she heard Hiccup call.

Stormfly weaved the familiar path through the trees, and the sound of hooves chased after them. It wasn’t a far jaunt to their destination. As soon as Astrid heard the babbling of a stream, she slowed Stormfly down to a trot. She found a clearing with an gnarled tree that hung out over the sloping bank, sporting an old rope that was discolored and frayed.

Toothless appeared mere seconds later, with Hiccup looking hesitant.

“What was _that_ about?” he asked, frowning.

Astrid dismounted, trying to inconspicuously smooth down the cuffs of her shorts where they had ridden up.

“A place to water the horses and to give Toothless a rest,” she answered, hands on her hips. “I thought it’d be a good idea.”

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow but didn’t argue as he climbed down. He was still gazing at her skeptically as he led his horse to the water.

Everything had a vibrant gold tint as the sun continued its descent—still high enough in the sky to be seen, but casting long shadows over the ground. In the dimming light, a firefly or two could be spotted flitting about in the shade. Crickets started to serenade the retreating sun.

Astrid gnawed on her bottom lip. “The South is great, you know?” she blurted out. 

Hiccup whipped around, puzzled. 

She gestured to the little blinking lights floating among branches: waltzing fireflies showing off their beauty.

“This stupid little town is only a very small part of it. I want to get out, but I needn’t go too far. Just where I can start over. We have fireflies and rope swings.” She strode over the the old tree, pointing at initials that had been carved there years ago. “Eret and my sister, they came here a lot. People get outside and make memories here, instead of wasting time in front expensive gadgets. We’ve got sweet tea by the pitcher, church potlucks, and wrap-around porches. People here may be nosy, but you’ve got good, hard-working, decent folks, too. There are dirt roads--and mason jars are part of home decor. It’s not…it’s not  _so_  bad here. You don’t…you don’t  _have_ to rush out to California. You don’t even have to stay in this town, if you don’t want to. But if you look past the surface imperfections, we’ve got things worth staying for.”

“Astrid…” his eyes were pitying and it just made her all the more indignant. 

She folded her arms and angled away from him.

“I mean, you can leave if you want to, but you’re missing out. What could California–-?“

“I killed someone!” he interrupted, then he closed his eyes in disbelief. He pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply. “Is that…what you wanted to know?”

Astrid felt an icy fist grip her heart, mind racing through a dozen horrific scenarios. 

“But you said–”

Hiccup raised a hand and shook his head. In that moment, looked much older, and far more tired than any carefree someone his age should.

“It was a car accident a couple years ago,” he explained. “I was young–-well, young _er_ –-and stupid. So,  _so_ stupid. I thought I was invincible. I thought  _she_ was invincible, but…” He hesitated, then rolled up his left pant leg to his knee so she could see the twisted scar wrapping up his calf. “I was lucky, they tell me. She wasn’t, and it’s my fault. Every day, I live with that.”

She relaxed, sympathy replacing fear. “Heather…?” Astrid murmured—the name he had only spoken once. She had thought it was a nasty breakup. 

“One day, you’re living in the moment--but like I said, you eventually catch up to the future and, in my case, wake up in a hospital bed with a torn up leg and survivor’s guilt.”

“Hiccup, I’m…sorry.” 

The words sounded weak, but he gave her a sad smile.

“Don’t be.” He leaned back against the tree, folding his arms. “With plenty of grief counseling, I dealt with it. I forgave myself, eventually. That’s not what chased me out of Berk–-not directly, anyway." When Astrid stood just there in expectant silence, he continued, “Everywhere I went was a painful reminder of her-–places Heather and I used to go, and things she liked. That was the hardest part of the recovery. I wanted to move away then, but my dad thought I just needed to refocus on the family business. He thought it would be good for me. It was only making things worse. I hated it. The more I tried to withdraw, the harder he pushed me. He thought he could restructure my life with more discipline. He saw my life heading in one direction, and I saw it going in another. Finally, I just…left.”

“Isn’t he looking for you?” 

Astrid could only imagine the length her own father would go to in order to find her. 

Hiccup gave a hollow laugh, scuffing his boots in the dirt. “Yeah. I’m sure he is. Or, at least, he was. I sent him a few post cards though, from places I’ve been, telling him in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t coming home. I’m twenty. What could he do about it, really? There’s nothing left for me in Berk.”

“But there is in California?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but it’s sure as hell far enough away from home.”

Astrid tried for one last ditch effort. One more hopeful jab. “Georgia isn’t far enough?”

“For the summer, it has been.”

She groaned and started pacing, gathering her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head to give the sweaty nape of her neck some relief.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, out on the west coast. Apparently there’s nothing interesting around here.”

Hiccup frowned. “You’re interesting.”

“Right. That’s why you’ve kept me at arm’s length?”

“No. I did that because I have nothing to offer you. I mean, God; I’m living out of a spare bedroom with not even enough clothes to fill a suitcase. What could possibly happen between us? If we got involved and I left, then-–”

Astrid’s hands fell to her hips. Her hair tumbled back down.

“I appreciate the consideration, Hiccup, but it’s not up to you to safeguard my feelings.”

“And you’re still interested in me? Do you have any idea how  _insane_  that is?”

“Why?”

“To reiterate: I’m homeless, relatively penniless, and I’ll be leaving in a week’s time for California to flee the memories of my dead girlfriend and overbearing father. You’re trying to tell me  _that_ does it for you? My particular kind of crazy?”

“No. You’re the first person I’ve met who’s truly genuine and unconcerned with appearances and everyone else’s expectations.”

“Hmm. I hardly think I’m the  _only_  guy like that. I’d say you’ve been suffering from a lack of-–”

Astrid pressed her lips to his and he inhaled sharply; but she did not back down and he did not pull away. She slid her hand to the back of his head, curling her fingers in his hair. His back was against the tree and he was pinned between her body and the rough bark. She sighed into his mouth, bringing her other hand to rest on his chest, feeling the hint of muscle through his thin, cotton shirt. As she melded her body into his, she felt him touch her hesitantly–-a gentle, questioning caress of her hips. She answered his unspoken concerns with a soft moan, then he was kissing her back with slow-burning affection.

“I like your New England accent and your odd, Yankee mannerisms,” she whispered against his lips. “I like your tight blue jeans.”

He chuckled and replied, “I like your sweet tea.”


	4. Chapter 4

Astrid had kissed other boys;Hiccup was by no means the first. She had her share of playground pecks and aggressive adolescent makeouts under the bleachers. Those encounters had been few and far between, though; never often enough to damage her ever-important reputation while living in a small, nosy town.

College, however, had been a different story. She had been relieved to escape to an oasis of freedom and freshmen anonymity, full of parties and wandering hands; abundant alcohol and rattling bass beats. It all served to lower inhibitions and make a proper young lady too flirtatious—but she had never been as invested in another person’s lips as she was invested in Hiccup’s. Neither kisses stolen from a teenage crush, nor saliva swapped under the influence of cheap booze and flashing lights, had been as enticing as the meeting of lips under the shade of an old magnolia tree. 

Hiccup was touching her face. His fingertips were feather-light on her jaw right below her ear, as his thumb stroked along her cheek. Their lips moved with a calm, controlled heat, much different in speed and pressure than any kiss she could remember.

Her hands gripped his shirt, her bare thighs rubbed against his denim, and the way his hand sat above her ass was driving her insane. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted him to  _want_  to touch her, but he was just so restrained.

Frantic, smacking lips had been the norm with every boy before him, but Hiccup was satisfied by the slow-burning sort of passion that left her dizzier and more breathless than aggressive tongues and groping ever had.

Not bad for only their second kiss.

“You’re good at this,” Astrid murmured into his mouth.

She hadn’t meant to sound quite so accusatory, but his skill only made her own limited experience all the more obvious.

A smile spread across his face, against her mouth. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He traced over her top lip with his tongue.

Astrid felt an unpleasant jolt to the gut, realizing he probably meant his dead girlfriend.

Was it guilt that made her stomach clench, knowing that he would likely be wrapped around Heather, had there never been a car crash? It felt like she was kissing someone else’s lover. He was single by tragedy, not by choice. 

But Hiccup had moved on, hadn’t he? It was okay.  _Surely_ , it was okay. He _had_ mentioned the grief counseling…

She pulled back, gazing at him. Those green eyes were intrigued by her. He was smiling, if only a little. There was something tender in the way he brushed her bangs aside—not at all like a relative stranger just looking for a fling.

“Do you like me?” she asked, blunt in a way that might earn her rebuke in different company. “I mean, do you have any kind of feelings for me at all?”

His eyebrows arched, then knitted together. His hands came to her waist. 

“No. I’d kiss just about anyone who backed me up against a tree,” he answered. “Happens all the time.”

Astrid scoffed, glancing up at the branches where more fireflies joined together in a lazy dance.

She asked a honest question, she thought. It was worth knowing his motivations. Though, really, would it matter if he would be gone in a week?

But she was not one to waste an opportunity, to not enjoy a good thing while she had it. She might never meet another person as strange as the transient ranch hand. There might not be another young man who could save her from the madness of her small town life—not while she was actually still living  _in_ said town, anyway.

Genuine or insincere, temporary or not, she wanted to feel liberated; as un-tethered to anyone or anything as Hiccup was. He was the only person for miles who didn’t expect anything of her. He wanted to be with her for who was really hiding under all that social grace, and _that_ was a rarity. Whatever disappointment might follow would be worth whatever uninhibited behavior she enjoyed with him then. It was worth it to feel alive; herself; not a well-dressed, well-mannered stereotype of Southern etiquette.

“There’s a county fair this weekend.” She laced her fingers with his, studying the way they fit so well, curling together like corresponding puzzle pieces. “It’s the day before you leave. I want you to go with me.”

“One last ditch effort to convince me to stay by overwhelming me with Southern charms?”

Astrid felt the sting of embarrassment. “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

Hiccup frowned and there was a shadow of regret in it. There was something soft and apologetic about the way he kissed her forehead.

“Sure. I’ll go with you. It’ll be a nice send-off.”

She swallowed hard, glancing away before her disappointment became too obvious. Years of politely plastic emotions had made her adept at hiding her feelings, but Hiccup—a relative stranger from far up north—made her feel unusually transparent.

“We should probably head back…” she muttered, but she did not let go of him, and though the Georgia air was stifling, she did not mind the warmth of his hand, nor the heat of their close proximity.

Hiccup scoffed pushing off from the tree and forcing Astrid to take a couple steps backwards. She gazed at him, bemused.

“You brought me all the way out to this creek and we’re not even going to swim? Kind of a pointless excursion, don’t you think?”

Astrid furrowed her brow, releasing his hands to gesture at her own clothes. “What part of this suggests swimming to you?”

“Uh…the part that’s  _not_  a prissy Southern debutante?” He teased, smirking at the way her lips curled with outrage.

“ _Prissy_ —?”

Her budding tirade fizzled out as Hiccup pulled his shirt up over his head. She lost her comeback in the amber sunlight, and the shadows bringing otherwise subtle muscle into stark relief. He had a ridiculous farmer’s tan and he was thinner than she had imagined, but it all sort of worked for him: an awkward, gangly attractiveness she wasn’t usually predisposed to liking.

“What are you…?” she tried to ask, but he was yanking off his boots. When his fingers deftly unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped his fly, her question was choked out by a surge of anxiety.

He didn’t hesitate as he bunched down the denim. It was another troublesome reminder that he had likely taken his clothes off for someone before—someone whom he loved once, and whom had died much too soon. He was far less bashful about stripping than she could hope to be, stepping out of his pants with a confidence gained from enough intimate nights with Heather. 

Astrid wondered, vaguely, how many other partners he had slept with-–if he had actually slept with anybody at all. At the very least, he had been on the receiving end of enough affection to be an accomplished kisser, and strip down to his underwear like it wasn’t taboo. 

Yes, someone else had definitely enjoyed him, and Astrid’s fists balled up at the thought. She had to mentally slap herself to clear the unbecoming bitterness from her head. There was something despicable about being jealous of a dead girl. Or perhaps she was just envious of her own lack of relationships, going only so far as sloppy kissing in her limited experience? She had certainly never undressed in front of a man before. She was always a good girl; always well-behaved—even for a college student; always the right amount of modesty and boundaries.

She hoped her roving eyes were not too conspicuous, following that auburn trail from his navel, extending below the waistband of his underwear, down to... _well_...

Astrid glanced quickly over his crotch, certain her face matched the vibrant hues of the sunset. Instead, she glimpsed his left leg, seeing the damage in all its entirety. Her breath hitched, taking in the angry scars, still pink, wrapping around his calf where jagged metal or broken glass had ripped at him like serrated knives. His shin and his foot bore the ruined flesh of a serious burns, shiny and taut, and forever discolored. There was some definite asymmetry when compared to other leg—tissue that had been torn from him, never to fully to regenerate.

“Does it gross you out?” Hiccup asked, snapping her back to attention. The question was sincere.

Astrid’s eyes returned to his face, and there was dispiritedness to him. She had been staring—gawking, to be accurate.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He reached for his discarded clothes. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ll just—“

“ _No!_ ” She practically shouted at him and he froze, blinking up at her with parted lips. She cleared her throat. “No. It doesn’t bother me. I wasn’t prepared, is all. I’m not… _disgusted_  by it.”

Hiccup straightened up, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re not? It’s…I mean, I know it’s repulsive. It’s okay.  _I’m_ used to it, so I forget–” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Standing there in his underwear, and suddenly that was the least unsettling thing about the whole awkward situation.

There was a snide remark to be made about her lack of decency hidden somewhere in the air between them, but neither one of them cared enough.

“It’s fine, really—well, actually it’s not. It’s terrible. But not…” she stumbled over her words, not sure what to say. Nothing in her repertoire of Southern etiquette prepared her for comforting someone on such a grotesque injury. Only “bless your heart” came to mind, but she respected him too much to use that hollow pleasantry. Words could be so stupid anyway, complicating matters that were actually quite simple.

Like Hiccup, standing there practically naked an unabashed; and Astrid, wanting more than anything to meet him on his level. Free. Uninhibited. Yes.  _Simple_ matters _._

With clammy hands and a racing heart, she grasped the bottom hem of her top, peeling it off and discarding it among his clothes. Her boots were kicked off next, then her socks, and her fingers trembled slightly, fumbling with the button on her shorts like it was a novel thing; like she had never undressed herself before. 

Hiccup was watching her, intrigued. It was not a lascivious or predatory—not at all like the stares over Solo cups at every frat party she had ever been to. Ever. He was curious, cocking his head slightly as she shimmied out of her shorts, feeling the flush of her cheeks though she stood resolute. She dared him to say anything: one inappropriate comment she could cling to so it wouldn’t hurt as badly when he left.

But he wouldn’t even give her that; not one boorish remark about her adorably coordinated polka-dotted underwear. 

He was a wonderful Southern gentlemen--for a Yankee, anyway.

“Why don’t you show me how it’s done around here?” he asked, gesturing to the rope swing.

Astrid didn’t move, paralyzed by the intensity behind those eyes, considering her with an emotion that she couldn’t quite name. It made her uncomfortable.

Hiccup sighed. “Or…we can just stand here half-naked, staring awkwardly at each other, but I don’t think it will be as much fun. Unless gaping at men in their underwear is your thing?”

Astrid felt the embarrassment prickle across her face. She was used to being in control—the most put together and sensible person in the room. Hiccup disarmed her; made her feel childish without the condescension; made her feel sheltered, like she knew nothing at all of the larger world beyond rural Georgia, ignorant of all life had to offer. 

“I’m not gaping,” she grumbled striding past him toward the old, gnarled magnolia tree. 

She was not some fragile, uptight thing. Hiccup chased freedom, and she wanted to show him she could be that for him, like he was for her.

She started jogging toward the edge of the creek bed, hands outstretched as she sprung onto the rope, letting the momentum carry her over the deepest point. She felt elation ripple through her—a forgotten thrill of yesteryear—as the hot air licked at her skin, a warm rush blowing her hair back as the stiff fibers of the rope poked at her palms. She couldn’t help the delighted giggle that escaped her. The last thing she registered before she plummeted into the swirling stream was Hiccup’s laugh and the swish of Stormfly’s tail. 

Suddenly, she was immersed in bubbles and a flurry of grit. An exhilarating splash and the muffled roar of water surrounded her. Her bare feet slipped over the mud and the stones on the creek bed, but she found her footing and pushed up, kicking until her head broke the surface with a gasp. She smoothed her long hair back, grinning and blinking the water from her eyes.

Toothless whinnied and Astrid realized Hiccup was no longer on the bank. His shadow swung over her, whooping loudly, and she just barley turned away before he dropped into the stream beside her. She was baffled how someone so skinny could create such an impressive splash. But she was hit by it, feeling impossibly more drenched. He was laughing when he surfaced. Astrid splashed him back with a playful wrinkle of her nose.

“Jerk!” she chimed with a tinkling giggle. He chased after her, and she swam away from his grabbing, tickling hands. “No.  _No!_ ” she protested between gasps, but she put up little resistance as he pulled her into his arms. 

It was far more electrifying to rub against moist, bare skin than denim, and she was very aware of the awkward way her arms were curled between them, hovering between their chests, unsure of where to fall.

“This is kind of nice,” Hiccup said.

He was taking in the purples streaks of approaching dusk, the twinkling fireflies, and the crickets serenading them. His thumbs brushed along her arms with a gentle absentmindedness.

Astrid was not impressed by the sights and sounds she had known every summer for as long as she could remember. All that mattered to her in that moment was the rise and fall of Hiccup’s chest.

“I haven’t been here in ages,” she said, reflecting on lighthearted memories: the afternoons she had spent in that very same stream, swinging out from the tree, squealing and splashing with her older sister. 

Then, somewhere along the way, they both grew up and such carefree escapades hardly seemed worth the effort anymore. It was all college and social functions; energies poured into excelling in everything; being poised and perfect—but to what end? Astrid still wasn’t sure, but she suspected it had something to do with attracting the most eligible bachelor from a well-to-do family. Such a stupid to ever consider, and yet…Hiccup fit that description. Sort of. Though what did it matter when he was only passing through?

In fact, despite the kissing, the only thing he seemed to have any real connection with was Toothless, spending more of his free hours in the stable than anywhere else. 

Was it pathetic to be envious of a horse? _Yes_ , the small voice in her head replied.

Toothless gazed at them from the grassy embankment, snorting and twitching his ears. Hiccup grinned, staring right back, and it was as if an entire conversation passed between them. Astrid couldn’t say she had the same bond with Stormfly, though she loved her mare. There was something spiritual between Hiccup and Toothless. She had seen it in the stables that night, when Hiccup had coaxed the anxious and guarded horse to stand as if it was an easy feat; getting near him, building a trust and rapport when no one else could. She saw it when Hiccup was merely around Toothless, feeding, brushing, or riding him. The two of them were at complete ease when they were together. Around Hiccup, the fidgety, agitated Toothless was docile; and as far as Astrid knew, Hiccup had done nothing but put compassionate hands on him.

“You know, I think Toothless is going to miss you when you leave—all those regular rides and attention. It’ll be hard to lose someone he trusts,” Astrid commented, finally resting her hands on Hiccup’s bare chest. He would be gone in a week so what was the harm? 

Hiccup did not seem to mind the contact. He was smiling at Toothless and Astrid wondered if he even noticed her touch.

The horse bobbed his head as if he were agreeing with her assessment, and Hiccup chuckled. Astrid felt the vibration beneath her fingers, letting them wander a bit, tracing over his clavicle, mapping him out like the highways on his long, westward journey.

“Maybe,” he said with a fondness for that horse; which Astrid decided she did envy, rational or not. “I’ll miss him for sure, but at least I know he’ll have you to look after him. He likes you.”

He was looking at her again, his searing hands continuing that innocent stroking of her arms making little firecrackers of desire burst beneath her skin. 

She replied, “He lets me near him, anyway. Hopefully he still will once you’re gone.”

Hiccup’s eyes flicked towards clouds; a skeptical half-roll. He was oblivious to the remarkable connection he had with Toothless. The horse would suffer without him, Astrid was sure—but she had no idea what Hiccup would lose when he left, or _if_ he would feel any sort of loss at all. 

“And what’ll  _you_  have out on the open road?” she asked, probing. Hoping.

“Dreams. Delusions. Crinkled dollar bills and maybe the occasional sweet tea, if the mood strikes,” He smiled in that infectious way that he did.

“Ah, so you’ve been converted?” she teased.

If it were only that simple, she would keep him there with a never-empty pitcher.

“Perhaps. I’m still not entirely convinced it’s _not_  laced with some illegal, habit-forming additives.”

Astrid grinned. “I’ll never tell.”

Hiccup’s humor faded, replaced with something melancholy. He gripped her a bit tighter, earnest and unexpected.

“I hope I can still find some where I’m headed. It’s my new vice.”

Astrid wasn’t entirely sure he was talking about sweet tea anymore.

She raised her eyebrows, feeling her heart beat a bit harder; a bit more insistent. “And here I was beginnin’ to think you were immune to our Southern charms.”

“Hardly. Sweet tea, Toothless, you…There are things here that would be worth staying for.”

His words burned because Astrid knew that ultimately, he wouldn’t.


	5. Chapter 5

That day was ungodly hot. There was no breeze to break up the stagnant heat, and no shade in the open fairgrounds. Astrid was on the verge of showing too much leg. Her blouse hung loose on her thin frame and her bright, purple bra peeked out shamelessly: a blatant “look at me” that was not her intention. The sweat between her breasts glistened in the afternoon sun, like a beacon to draw Hiccup’s attention. If he was stealing glances, he was remarkably subtle about it, but that did not keep her from readjusting her top whenever something else caught his eye.

And there was a lot to see:cheap carnival rides and games with flashing lights; a children’s petting zoo; and booths of local artists displaying their work. Hiccup was intrigued, eyes bright and curious, appearing more youthful than Astrid had ever seen him. 

She smiled, reaching down to loosely entwine her fingers with his. It was innocent. Easy. There was nothing suggestive about holding hands in public, she told herself. A few intrusive gazes followed them between the rows of food trucks: the prying eyes of a little town. 

“Fried alligator?” Hiccup mused, reading the bold, wavy letters on the side of a Cajun food truck. His head was cocked. “You can fry an alligator?”

“Oh, yeah! You sheltered Yanks!“ she teased, and he scoffed playfully. “Don’t you know? You can fry anything.” She began pointing to the different fair delicacies. “Fired Oreos, fried ice cream, fried alligator, fried rattlesnake…”

“High cholesterol for sale. I got it.”

Astrid inhaled the comforting aroma of hot funnel cake and fresh popcorn. From somewhere unseen wafted the saccharine aroma of cotton candy, and it was the scent of her summers. But there was a new sensation: an excited tingling over her skin like autumn static. Her stomach gave a giddy flip when Hiccup’s fingers shifted for a tighter grip on her hand.

“Do you want some?” he asked, and she blinked. 

She was distracted by his other thumb hooked in his pocket, tugging his jeans down just enough for her to make out the color of his boxer briefs. Or so she _hoped_  they were boxer briefs, if she had such a preference.

A week had passed and that image of him half-naked by the stream had yet to fade from her mind. It was clearest when she was curled beneath her covers at night, just for maximum torment. In the days that had followed their evening near-skinny dip, she had been unable to coax him out of his pants again, no matter how passionately they kissed in the stables before and after tending to their horses; between Hiccup’s chores; and at night before she retired to her room, leaving him to keep Toothless company.

She was beginning to suspect his fondness for her was rivaled only by his fondness for that horse.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked with a wavering smile.

The patch off skin above the waistband of his underwear was fatal to her attention span.

“Fired alligator,” he said. “Do you want some? I think it would be remiss if I left without trying it. When else will I get that chance?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never cared that much for it, but if you’re willing…”

They took a spot in line, swapping childhood stories while they waited. With Hiccup, she could seamlessly roll from one topic of conversation to the next. The more she got him talking— _really_  talking—the more fascinating he became, and it was dangerous. Come morning, he would be gone for good.

Still, there was something about the way he spoke: a very humble explanation of who he was and where he had come from. He was not terribly forthcoming, dropping a significant fact about his life after every half-dozen jokes or useless trivia about some place or thing he'd seen. What he _did_ share, however, painted of a picture of someone with far more freedom than she had ever had. His life was exciting, full of travel to foreign places, meeting exciting people; the complete opposite to her sheltered upbringing.

“No, never Everest,” he laughed. “Mount Fuji was beautiful, though. If you ever get the chance…”

“And that’s how you spent your summers? Traveling the world with your father on his business trips?” she tried to keep the envy from her voice. “Much better than family reunions and Bible camp, I’m sure.”

“No. Not every summer. Sometimes, I would go stay with my mom for a few days,” he replied.

Astrid was taken aback. “With your mom? Somewhere else?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. My parents, they…they’re div—they’re not together,” he said quickly. “They loved each other, but ever could really see eye-to-eye. Too opposite, I guess.”

Astrid felt herself bristle.

“I thought opposites attract,” she muttered casting him a sidelong glance as he released her hand.

He pulled out his wallet, flipping it open to pay the vendor holding out a basket of fried alligator bits. She saw the stack of bills as he thumbed through it, looking for a ten. The leather was high quality—sophisticated, like the wallet her father owned—but Hiccup’s wallet was fit to burst with a summer’s meager pay, all in cash. His entire worth, independent of his family name, contained in a single billfold; and the belongings he carried in the one suitcase he supposedly had with him.

“Here, let me,” she insisted fishing in her purse for her own clutch billfold.

“It’s alright,” Hiccup said. “I’ve—“

Astrid whipped out a ten with blinding speed, leaving him to take the food as she handled the returned change. He quirked an eyebrow as they walked away, stuffing his wallet back into his jeans.

“That’s not how that’s supposed to work,” he sighed. “What kind of gentleman am I for letting you pay?”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “A Yankee gentleman. I heard splitting tabs is a big thing for y’all. It suits you—your particular kind of different.”

He smirked, shaking his head. His hand found hers again and her heart fluttered. “Perhaps—but you’re a proper Southern lady. Shouldn’t I be the one to pay on a date?”

Astrid’s chest tightened. It was such an adolescent concept, but for Hiccup, so determinedly unattached to anyone or anything, to consider their shared afternoon as anything somewhat official…

“ _Date?_ ” she asked, incredulously.

“Traditions and etiquette are all a big deal down here, right?” he replied, shrugging. “I mean, I’m not rolling in it, but I’m not exactly destitute. You could say I’m probably pushing the line, but—“

She interrupted him, still trying to process that he, usually so evasive, was showing any interest; any sort of initiative to care beside the moments she practically threw herself at him. 

“I thought you weren’t the type for…We’re on a date? You and me?”

He stopped. “Is…is that not obvious?” His eyes widened and he swallowed, hard. He cleared his throat. “Oh. I'm sorry. ” His gaze dropped to the ground. “I thought, when you asked me to come to this fair with you—I was getting this Sadie Hawkins vibe, and I just assumed…Of course, it makes perfect sense why you wouldn’t think so. I mean, why would you? A few kisses in the stables doesn’t necessarily equate to—“

“Hiccup, it’s—“

“I apologize. That was forward of me. I’m sorry. I mean, all of the kissing, though—but I’m not trying to pressure you or imply that I didn’t enjoy—“

She was used to him as confident and self-assured around the ranch. He fixed things with a calm air about him. He rode Toothless and tended to him like he had always belonged there But away from his work, when they were alone together with no other distractions, he was fidgety and babbling, and every bit as awkward as some of the boys she had known in high school. 

It was unexpected—a different side to him—and it was endearing. It somehow, against any shred of reason, made her like him more. He was a real person, socially stumbling, with insecurities and all. For the first time, Astrid felt as though they were on a level playing field. He had no problem making out with her, but God forbid he incorrectly assume they were “together” for the next sixteen hours or so.  _That_ , apparently, was crossing a line.

She laughed. “You’re kind of a dork when you aren’t around that horse.” She nudged him with her shoulder.

He grinned sheepishly, eyes still locked on the dirt. “Ah. So, uh…you’ve found out my secret, I guess. I almost got away with it, too: convincing you I was suave.”

“Hardly.” She bent her knees a little, dipping down to catch his gaze and drag it back to face-level. “Try the alligator with the sauce. It’s better that way.” She plucked up a fried ball of meat, rolling it in the spicy Remoulade. “I sort of like dorky, by the way. It's nice on you.”

His tone was flat. “Dorky?”

“ _Unconventional_ ,” she amended, and he smirked.

She felt like she was finally seeing beyond his amicable but distant demeanor. Behind the veil was someone approachable, vulnerable and, well,  _real_ —just in time for him to leave Georgia. Damn it all. Every step forward was just a pointless advance on a dead end road, and her foolish heart just couldn’t accept it. Her head had the sense to look forward and see nothing for them, but she keep running headlong toward that disappointment. She wanted to get closer to him still. There were sixteen more hours left to pretend they could actually be something.

“Unconventional, huh? How kindly backhanded,” he said. “So you like different—I suppose that’s why you paid?”

“I paid so I wouldn’t bankrupt you before your trip even got started.” 

Her heart sank. She could’ve kicked herself. In hindsight, she should’ve let him pay.

“Well, if eight dollars’ worth of fried alligator is enough to break the bank, then I’m in more trouble than I thought.”

“So, you’re a financially savvy runaway?”

He frowned. “I don’t like to think of it as ‘running’. More like relocating. Starting over.” 

Astrid nodded to the flashing carnival games, all set up together with bright colored stuffed animals to lure parents and well-meaning boyfriends looking to satisfy fussy children and doe-eyed girlfriends respectively.

A staff member beckoned them over.

Astrid nodded toward the enthusiastic, waving hands. “Well, let’s ‘relocate’ to those games over there.”

Hiccup snorted dismissively. “Ah. Now you’re  _trying_  to blow money. Those games are rigged unless you understand the physics behind them.”

“Oh? What kind of physics?” 

Hiccup gestured towards the impatient staff member, who looked like she might have a coronary if they didn’t stop debating it. He explained, “The ring toss, for example. Did you know the rings they give you are only slightly larger than the bottlenecks, and made of bouncier material? The best chance to win is to flick your wrist and give the ring some spin. You’ll have a greater chance of it landing evenly on the bottle.”

Her lips quirked. “Okay. Now you’re goin’ to  _have_ to test that theory.”

He glanced at the ring toss booth, considering it while Astrid squeezed his hand encouragingly. He turned back to her, smug. 

“Deal,” he said, “but then _you_ have to explain pecan pie to me.”

She laughed. “Deal.”

He nodded and popped some alligator into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 

“Mmn. It’s like rubbery chicken,” he decided, and Astrid felt a twinge of sadness. 

Sixteen hours was just not long enough.

* * *

A large, plush dragon looked back at Astrid accusingly with its plastic, amber eyes. Sequined wings caught the moonlight filtering in through her bedroom window, highlighting where it was perched between decorative pillows on the window seat. Hiccup had been right about the physics of carnival games and she had returned home with a new stuffed animal; forever a reminder of a fruitless summer crush.

Astrid was sprawled out on top of her comforter in striped pajama shorts and a burnt out Henley tee, trying in vain to ignore the blue, huggable dragon watching her. It was like it was mocking her. 

With an aggravated groan, she sat up, trudging over to the window seat and flopping down among the paisley pillows. She took the dragon in her arms and held it to her chest, drawing her knees up. How bittersweet that it smelled like the fair, bound to eventually fade as the memory of Hiccup’s lips would also. Her eyes burned and she took a shuddering breath, wiping the brimming tears of heartache and frustration before they had the chance to fully form—before they had the chance fall and become real. 

She gazed aimlessly out her window at the patches of silver light dancing over her family’s property. She could hear the cricket’s chirping, interrupted only by the thunder of hooves. She squinted, and a shadow was moving through the moonbeams: a black stallion and his caretaker, sharing one last ride. 

Even in the darkness Toothless seemed powerful, the light gleaming off rippling muscle. He was alive, full of vigor, tearing through the night like he was made for it. There was no hint of his crippling injury; only strength. That horse, who had kicked at Eret, and who became agitated whenever anyone approached his stall without Hiccup present, was completely at ease running across pasture. He was in a full out sprint, like he had never been so free. 

Astrid could ride with them—she, and Stormfly. She could steal just a little bit more time. One more shared memory before Hiccup left for good.

She hopped up from her window seat and raced downstairs, out the front door. Even in the middle of the night, the air was humid. Her skin was sticky in an instant, but there was a breeze to make it tolerable. Fireflies danced over the grass like a sea of stars, but she remained rooted to the porch, just watching.

Hiccup and Toothless slowed to a gallop, and Astrid could not bring herself to intrude on them. Hiccup bent forward to pat the horse and Toothless whinnied. They were saying goodbye in their way, heartfelt and mutually understood. 

Astrid leaned against the banister, watching them slip back into the stable.

Toothless was to be her horse now, and Hiccup was to thank for that. The black stallion might come to listen to her one day, but Toothless would never  _belong_  to her. Hiccup had been the one to feed him, muck the stall, and stay behind to brush him after Astrid had retreated to bed. She had seen the way Hiccup stroked Toothless’s nose while she saddled up Stormfly. He spoke to Toothless like the horse could understand him, and the way Toothless would hold his gaze, maybe he could. How was she ever to compete with that? How could she fill that void for Toothless when she would be left with one of her own?

Hiccup had come to do a job, work for a few months and leave. There shouldn’t have been deep connections formed. It wasn’t supposed to hurt when he left, but Hiccup had been good— _too_  good. He had been the solution to much more than a checklist of chores her father was growing too old for.

She strode across the property, grass crunching beneath her feet. She felt a few little pricks on her bare legs, likely mosquitoes; but she ignored them aside from a haphazard swat.

Hiccup emerged from the stables, head down and hands in his pockets. He lingered, and gazed back at Toothless with a visible sigh. His pace was slow as he ambled off into the darkness for the trailer on the edge of the Hofferson property: his home for the past three months. Usually, it was a place for Astrid's Uncle Finn to crash whenever he came through town. There had been a bit of a falling out in her parents’ younger years, and though they had reconciled with her Uncle Finn, he still didn’t like staying in the main house when he came to visit.

Hiccup was already inside by the time she reached the trailer, light shining through drawn and faded curtains. Moths pelted the tiny window and Astrid hesitated outside the door, fist raised. 

What was she doing? Seriously.  _What was she doing?_

Going for broke, apparently, chasing a passing fancy.

She knocked, each beat of her fist make her heart pound faster. Her stomach flipped at the approaching footsteps, and her breath hitched as the door opened. Hiccup was silhouetted against the weak, incandescent light of the trailer, and further obscured by the screen door between them.

“Astrid?” He was genuinely surprised. “What are you doing here?”

She opened her mouth to give him an answer, but she realized she had none—at least, none that wouldn’t sound completely pathetic.

“I don’t…know,” she said, wringing her hands. Her throat going dry. A fire was raging furiously, and it was fueled by all the wrong things: an inability to let go; an unhealthy infatuation with someone she couldn’t really have. 

Why didn’t she want the nice, Southern boys? A dime a dozen in her town, true enough, but at least _they_ were predictable. They would never leave. They were safe.

And they were boring.

The screen door opened and Hiccup stood there, gazing down at her with a curious expression. There was something swirling about him, too, and Astrid wanted all of it.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked, stepping aside, holding both doors open for her; one with his body,  and the other with an outstretched hand.

There was one path laid out in front of them. A single direction they were both headed in; and she knew, and he knew. So, she stepped over the threshold into the familiar little trailer that still smelled of Uncle Finn's stale cigarette smoke. The doors shut behind her and she wheeled around to stare at Hiccup, standing a respectable distance away. His suitcase was by the door, packed and ready to go. A lump in her throat that burned at the sight of it.

“You should stay,” her voice cracked, and it was pleading; but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I can’t,” he said softly, just as he did every time she had insisted. 

“I…I really like you, Hiccup.”

Just one more admission might change his mind. Maybe.

“I know. I like you, too.”

Astrid crossed the space between them, and his arms came around her, warm and certain. They kissed, and her fingers knotted in his hair. She wanted to feel every texture of him, to remember as much of him that she could for as long as she could.

“I’m going to leave tomorrow,” he whispered, and the words hit like a physical blow.

“I know,” she murmured, pressing into him, feeling too much and not enough through her thin clothing. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his hand was brushing just beneath the hem of her top, tracing over the taut muscle of her abs.

“I…I haven’t done this in a while,” he admitted. “Two years, come to think of it.” Both of his hands were on her hips, feeling her through her pajama shorts, thumbs rubbing over her hipbones and stirring up a hunger she had never felt so ardently before.

She giggled, high-pitched and nervous. It was her turn to avert her gaze. “I haven’t done this ever.”

He kissed her forehead, and her hands dropped to his chest, feeling his heart beat furiously as she gripped his tee. 

“I don’t want you to regret this.” He repeated, “I’m going to leave.” 

That was supposed to change her mind, and it  _should’ve_ changed her mind; but too many years she had done what was expected of her. Too many years, she kept her mouth shut, smiled a plastic smile, and put her own desires on the back-burner. 

“I know you will. But for now, let’s pretend that you won’t.” Her fingers trembled, stroking over his chest.

Their lips collided, and Astrid was only vaguely aware of their movement through the trailer: across the kitchen, down a hallway, past the bathroom, and into the bedroom. Somehow, at some point, they backed up against the bed. She looked at Hiccup with a flash of trepidation. He just smiled at her tenderly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“We don’t have to do this. I’m not expecting anything from you. I’ve never expected anything from you. It doesn’t have to be me, Astrid. It doesn’t have to be like this. You should wait for someone else who—“

“No. I think I have been waiting for you,” she replied. It sounded horribly cheesy, but Hiccup didn’t laugh.

“That’s…That’s quite a responsibility to put on me,” he said, an awkward twitch of his lips.

“I think you can handle it. You made a lame horse walk, after all.”

He was serious. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“I know.”

They hesitated for a beat, then more kisses were exchanged between shedding clothes. Every inch of Astrid’s skin was charged with a new electricity Hiccup lowered her down to the bed with a deliberate gentleness.

* * *

  
Astrid awoke to the sound of distant voices and the slamming of a truck bed. She propped herself up on her elbows, glancing around, disoriented. She was wrapped up, naked, in faded sheets. The bed was empty beside her, and the adjacent pillow still had the indent of Hiccup’s head. 

Her brain was reeling to reconstruct the night: sweet whispers and flushed skin, gasps of pleasure and hands twisting in the bed linen. She had faded in and out of sleep in the early morning hours, barely registering the purple hues of a breaking dawn through the tiny bedroom window. In her groggy haze, she had disregarded the warm body spooned against her, and the light kisses to her shoulder. She had only grunted in response to a regretful, “I have to go.” Sleep had reclaimed her immediately.

Chest heaving, she stumbled out of bed, throwing on her pajamas and sprinting out of the trailer.

Halfway down the gravel road, she spotted Eret’s truck, loaded up with bales of hay and a single suitcase. Her father was standing beside the vehicle, shaking Hiccup’s hand through the rolled down window.

“Take care of yourself,” she heard her father say, stepping back. “If you ever need a reference, just call.”

The truck roared to life.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Mr. Hofferson, for everything,” Hiccup said.

Astrid vaulted over the fence as the truck began to roll away.

“Wait! Wait, stop!” she cried, and the breaks screeched.

Her father was aghast at her lack of clothing, burnt out tee plenty translucent in the morning light. She didn’t care, hissing as she stepped warily over sharp gravel. 

“ _Wait_ ,” she panted, coming to the passenger side. Hiccup had the audacity to smile.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he told her. “I was afraid I wouldn’t have the chance for a proper goodbye.”

There was a rising panic—one that could not be stifled for a tragedy that could not be stopped. It was unavoidable; had  _been_  unavoidable. All of Astrid’s foolishness, all of the hoping and dreaming that things could be different, crashed into her at once. How pointless it had been; how  _wonderful_ , only amount to nothing but misery.

“Where are you going now?” she asked, placing her hand on his wrist.

“Eret’s driving me to Atlanta. I’ll take a bus out West from there,” he answered, and he was too calm; too at peace with it all.

“Write or something, since you’re too damn stubborn to own a phone like a normal human being.” 

“I will.”

“Do you even know the address?” 

“It’s up here.” He tapped his temple with his index finger.

The truck started moving again, and she walked with it, holding fast to his wrist.

“That’s not at all reassuring,” she retorted, frowning.

The truck picked up speed and soon he was beyond her reach, his fingers slipping through hers until he twisted around to look back at her. He was dragging her happiness along by Eret’s bumper.

“What your real name?” she called after him, arms falling limply by her side.

“Hayden! Hayden Haddock!” He inclined his head. “Goodbye, milady!”

Astrid exhaled shakily, hands flying into her sleep tousled hair, defeated. She was helpless, watching that vehicle drive away with the one person that had made her feel truly alive. She had not realized how numb she had been before him.

“Bye…” she murmured, though he couldn’t hear it.

He had turned back around and the last she glimpsed of him was a flash of green in the sideview mirror.

“You’re quite attached to that boy,” her father said, scratching his chin.

The accusation was obvious and she blinked rapidly, holding back the tears that would more or less confess to everything.

She gestured after the truck, disappeared within a cloud of dust. “Who’s…who’s gonna work with Toothless?” She bit her quivering lip. “He’ll be so sad.”

“Mmn. Yes. The horse. Right.” Her father glimpsed her up and down in disapproval. “Now, go put some real clothes on.”

* * *

  
“So, are we goin’ to hang out this Christmas Break?” Ruffnut asked, tossing her duffle bag into Astrid’s car. “Or, do you have another ranch hand to keep you busy?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Astrid scowled, slamming her trunk shut. “No. No more ranch hands for me, thank you. I’ve sworn them off—their charmin’ smiles  _and_  their tight blue jeans.”

“Just because one douchebag forgot to write you—!”

“Get in the car,” Astrid sighed, climbing into the driver’s seat, shutting the door irritably. “And he didn’t forget,” she snapped as Ruffnut ducked into the passenger seat. “He wrote  _once_ , on a coffee-stained piece of paper.”

“Oh-ho, yeah!” Ruffnut chortled. In a dramatic voice, she recited, “’Dear Astrid, I had a great time knockin’ boots with you this summer. I’m in some nasty diner somewhere, thinking about you, but I don’t give enough shits to come back. California. That’s where it’s at. Cali, Cali, Cali. I have a hard on for Cali and whatever job I may or may not get when I get there. I want to tell you I miss you, though I’m probably screwing some other chick tonight. I’m going to promise to write again, but I’m a dirty liar.’ Did I get that right?”

“That’s _not_ what he said,” Astrid snapped, turning the ignition. 

Ruffnut kicked her feet up on the dash. “It’s the general gist, so get over him. It’s been like, six months. All he did was pop your cherry. Big fuckin’ whoop! You should go out with that guy from the campus bookstore. He totally digs you.”

Astrid rolled her eyes, throwing the car in reverse and backing out of the parking space.

* * *

  
Toothless was not the same horse he had been that summer. He let Astrid brush him, he even tolerated her riding him, but he was listless when in the stables. He hardly moved. He spent most of his time lying down, only standing to feed and when coaxed out of the stall for a ride. Astrid spent a lot of time with him, talking to him, reassuring him. There was a glimmer of life in his eyes for her, but that spiritedness that made him so impressive had fizzled out when it became clear Hiccup was not coming back.

“What are we going to do, Toothless?” She muttered, fixing a saddle to him. “You and I? We’re a mess. It isn’t fair is it?”

The horse’s ears twitched.

Astrid pressed her face into his neck. “It’s been long enough, so why does it still hurt?”

Toothless shifted.

“He’s a jerk. Thank God he’s not coming back. We should just forget him.” She pulled back. “We’ll be a lot better off that way!”

Toothless’s head only seemed to hang lower and Astrid felt a similar sinking in her chest. She never thought she and the black stallion would have so much in common.

“C’mon…”

She took him out for about an hour, deliberately avoiding the trailer she often revisited in her sweaty, waking dreams. She thought about that night far more than was probably healthy. It made it hard to stay bitter when her mind wandered to lips on her neck, or the comfortable weight of a lithe body moving over her in a sensual rhythm.

Her heels urged Toothless to run faster, hoping the brisk winter air might wipe those torturous memories from her mind. It worked, until they returned to the stables and she dismounted. In that stall, she felt Hiccup’s presence like a cruel phantom. She wondered if the horse felt it too.

She trudged back to the house, frost wetting her boots. Inside, she heard laughter and the tinkling of plates and flatware as her mother and sister set the table for dinner. There was the hum of conversation between her father and Eret, and it was picturesque like every holiday greeting card and seasonal Norman Rockwell painting. She wiped her feet on the welcome mat, prepared to put on a happy face.

“Ah! There she is!” Her father beamed as she kicked off her boots. He pulled her into a hug and kissed the crown of her head. “My Dean’s List college student!”

“I reckon you could get into any law school or grad program you wanted to, if you keep up those grades,” Eret said, and Astrid grinned at him, wiggling free from her father’s grasp. 

She had always liked her brother-in-law. He was one of the few voices supportive of her ambitions.

“A smart girl for a smart husband!” her mother piped up, and Astrid huffed. 

She fled into the kitchen, which not quite far enough with an open floorplan, but her mother seemed to drop the subject. Astrid filled a glass with sweet tea from the refrigerator. 

“You have some mail,” her father said offhandedly. “Return address is out in California somewhere, I don’t know—“

Astrid choked and sputtered into her glass but her father didn’t notice. He and Eret had begun talking politics while her mother and sister discussed future babies and pregnancy. Astrid was able to snatch the letter and slip off to her room, nearly tripping on the stairs like her feet had forgotten how to work. 

She kicked her door shut behind her. The paper in her hands practically scalded with the need to be opened. It was suddenly hot, and she sat on the bed, staring down at the humble envelope with its messy scrawl and unassuming palm tree stamp. She pinched it mercilessly between her fingers, as if testing whether or not it was real. 

How? She was supposed to be resentful. She was supposed to hate Hiccup for leaving like he did; going months without a word sent her way. At the very least, she should have been indignant, but her fingers shook with excitement as she tore open that plain envelope. 

The note inside read:

_Dear Astrid,_

_First, I owe you an apology for failing to write the past few months. ~~I’m a total ass~~  It was a struggle when I first got here. I bounced around to a few places, slept outdoors a lot, and worked a few odd jobs that never really panned out. Maybe it’s stupid and selfish, but I didn’t want to write you about all the ways I’ve failed.  ~~There have been so many~~ And to be perfectly honest, I rarely had anything decent to write with.  ~~I tried to write you on a napkin once. That didn’t work so well.~~  I hope you can forgive me, though I know I probably don’t deserve it. Just like I didn’t deserve any of the affection you gave me this past summer. You deserve so much more than what I have to offer, which is frankly, next to nothing._

_So, why am I writing you then?  
_

_Well, I finally have ~~a steady job~~ steady jobs out here, working in an autoshop part time, and a coffee shop part time, serving up drinks to the most uppity soccer moms you could possibly imagine.  ~~This one lady comes in every morning and I swear she’s making up half her order~~  I’m going to college now for a degree in engineering. I was at the campus library, comparing our academic calendars online, ~~I hope that’s not too weird~~ and I see our Spring Breaks match up. If you don’t have any plans, I would like to see you again. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and I hope you don’t completely hate me. I wouldn’t blame you if you did. You’re amazing, and I want to save you from that crazy town you can’t stand, if you’ll let me. If you don’t want to see me, rip up the tickets and I’ll never bother you again, but if you think we’ve got a shot, come out to California. Please.  
_

_I’d like to think we’ve got a shot._

_Merry Christmas._

_Yours,  
Hiccup_

_P.S.—We should probably start emailing. hhh04@usc.edu._

_P.S.S—If you do come out here, teach me how to make sweet tea. I tried to order it, but they looked at me like I was nuts and told me that sugar is going to give me cancer._

Astrid laughed in disbelief, hearing his voice ring clearly in her head as if he was speaking to her in person. She could see his gesticulating, his gapped teeth, and his freckles. His crossed out words were just his stammering and babbling. 

She took a deep breath, turned the envelope upside down, and felt her face split into a wide grin as a plane ticket fell into her lap.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this story (so long ago), I never intended to include an explicit scene. My darling bestie was not having it, so I wrote the missing scene from the trailer the night before Hiccup leave. This is from his POV, and the reason this story now has an explicit rating.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” Hiccup said to Astrid.

He almost wished she would, though a part of his anatomy screamed otherwise. One of them needed to exercise common sense. It was a mad dash to disaster if they both lost sight of prudency. He had been resisting her for the summer, as difficult as that had been—keeping her at arm’s length—but there was a limit to even his sense of righteousness. Astrid deserved better.

She was a smart, fiery girl with all the prospects in the world. He had nothing to offer her but a dusty suitcase and family baggage. It was a mystery why she wanted to settle for a passing vagabond. Perhaps the sting of un-indulged teenage hormones haunted her? 

Hiccup was the just cure for a lack of options. He had no delusions. But it didn’t change the fact that he would be a mistake—someone Astrid would only add to her list of regrets. 

He didn’t want to be a bad memory. She needed to turn him away, because his self-restraint was too frayed. Around her, he felt like an alcoholic with a drink waved under his nose. Her burnt out Henley tee was his undoing. The outline of her nipples was just about to bring him to his knees; to beg and cast away his dignity.

“I know,” was all she said, dripping with implication: she wouldn’t tell him to stop. So, he couldn’t.

The pit of poor judgment opened to swallow them both.

Their lips collided. A surge of passion propelled them helplessly on. Astrid’s hands were as busy tearing at his clothes; he was busy with hers. The moonlight was all they had to aid them, glowing silver off Astrid’s skin. Every curve was soft and almost surreal. Hiccup hadn’t dared to hope he might touch her in such a way—his long fingers brushing over her bare collar bone, curling around her slender waist. He had thought about it, of course; he was only human—but Astrid was the boss’s daughter. It was taboo; forbidden, not that he put much stock in such labels.

He had wanted her for weeks, but he knew he was going to leave. Those wide blue eyes couldn’t convince him to stay, despite how susceptible he had become to their magic. It was more for Astrid’s benefit that Hiccup had never initiated anything, and was always quick to pull away whenever  _she_  did. It pained him to do it. The disappointment in her eyes had made him feel like world’s biggest ass. But he wasn’t pulling away anymore. Stupidity and libido had finally caught up to him.

Astrid was beautiful. He had pretended not to notice, trying to convince himself he really didn’t. But he couldn’t deny it as she stood there, naked. He didn’t compare, so why did he get to be her first lover? It didn’t make any sense.

Her grip on his shoulders tightened as he guided her onto the bed. She wasn’t likely to voice her hesitation, proud as she was. But Hiccup knew that look on her face, even in the darkness. He could feel the nervous twitch of her fingers, wanting to explore but not knowing how to go about it. The way she chewed her bottom lip was obvious indecision.

“We can stop this,” Hiccup repeated.

“That would certainly be the smart thing.” Astrid wouldn’t meet his eye; she was talking to his chest.

He was poised over her, one knee pressed into the mattress between her thighs.

“Yes, it would be the smart thing,” he agreed. But there was too much warm skin between the two of them, and Hiccup could not bear anymore of her disappointment. “Aren’t you about tired of the smart thing?”

Astrid met his gaze, letting out a small breath. Her lips twitched into a faint smile. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve been known to be a little dumb and reckless.”

“It’s a first for me.”

“Well, uh…there—there’s a first time for everything,” Hiccup quipped.

He pursed his lips, fighting back a chuckle. When Astrid let out a bark of laughter, he lost it.

That was one way to relieve the tension; and it rushed out of the room like a sprung pressure valve. Hiccup flopped down beside her. Their naked bodies came together and it was as soothing as sinking into bath. It shouldn’t have been that comfortable for as brief a time as they had known each other. But Astrid’s arms encircled him, loose and relaxed.

“You are a terrible influence, Mr. Hiccup,” she teased. Her hands wandered over his back, tracing the muscles.

“Me?” he replied with an incredulous snort. “If I recall correctly, it was  _you_  who came on to  _me_. All that making out in the stable—“

She was unapologetic. “Well,  _you_  had to wear those jeans.”

“Oh-ho, really? Setting high standards there. No wonder you’re single, with such exclusive criteria.”

She wrinkled her nose and smacked his shoulder lightly. “Stop. I wanted you. I was getting tired of fishing for your feelings about me.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “So you just threw dynamite in the water instead?”

“Pretty much.” Her eyes flickered to his chest. Her fingers drummed lightly there. “That was the general idea.”

It was still perplexing. Hiccup had gone out of his way  _not_  to give out signals. In fact, he had been as unappealing as a young man could be—distant, poor, and without a stable trajectory in life.

“Why? I-I mean, why  _me?_  Don’t get me wrong:  it’s not that I’m not thrilled and flattered, but—“

“Freedom. Happiness. The chance to be myself and maybe make a few mistakes, and feeling safe to do that.”

"I can be those things.” His brain’s filter wasn’t working, allowing any stupid thing to tumble out.

Astrid inched closer to him— _so_ close—she was wading into his words. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

For a moment, they just breathed: the kind of suspended, tremulous second that could weave two people together, or repel them by common sense’s sudden intrusion.

Common sense was nowhere near that trailer, however; only hands, and need, and desperation.

Astrid’s lips were softer than any Hiccup could remember. Though she was all muscle and pride, her skin was smooth. She was vulnerable beneath his palms, and her eyes were wary, watching him drink in her in with his gaze.

The last “first time” Hiccup had experienced had been his own. He was handling something precious now, as Astrid lie beside him. He could make or break sex for her. The pressure of that was real. Her fingertips danced over him in innocuous places—back, neck, shoulders–but if that was her comfort level, he wouldn’t push the issue. She could lie there, tell him what she wanted and what she didn’t, and he would give her everything or nothing at all.

The light through the blinds played off the enticing slope of her breasts in horizontal bands. The strips of shadows undulated with the rise and falls of her chest. Hiccup explored through alternating darkness and moonbeam. He felt every rib, her chest expanding and contracting beneath his hand.

“Should…should I?” Astrid glanced below his navel. Her fingertips idled on the hollow of his neck.

Hiccup tried to hide his eagerness. “Do you want to? I will talk you through it.”

“Yes. Yes, I do,” she said firmly. “But maybe you should lead for now? I’ll…I’ll jump in when I’m ready.”

“Sure.”

He swept a loop of her hair behind her ear, then tilted her head toward him. He kissed her slow, savoring it. The shape of her lips were committed to memory, as he had forgotten to do every time before. How stupid that seemed now: all his resisting. Astrid was already accustomed to the way his mouth moved over hers. She hummed and it stoked something in the pit of his stomach, carnal and impatient. He wanted more, to selfishly taste as much as he could within the bounds of his cracked gentleman’s demeanor.

Astrid’s face was round. The shape of her jaw was a graceful bow, and pleasant to trace with lips and the grazing of teeth.

“Hiccup,” she sighed, “that’s nice.” Her hands balled into fists on his chest.

“M’glad,” he murmured against her ear.

She shivered, inching impossibly closer. Her thighs were pressing into his and tempting that impatient fire burning beneath his skin. With the smallest movement, the valley of her hip brushed the head of his stiffening length. Lightning, hot and blinding, burst in his core, racing through his body with an almost debilitating intensity.

It had been a _very_  long while since anyone else had touched him.

He gasped into the crook of her neck. His subsequent, shuddering moan brought out a bit more of Astrid’s curiosity. She was caressing his chest, drawing invisible patterns over freckles and sparse hair.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “What was…?”

Hiccup smiled against her thrumming pulse, where the scent of her skin was strongest. Intoxicating. He left a trail of kisses from her earlobe to the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

“Far better than alright,” he said.

One of her nipples, a hard little bud, skipped over his thundering heartbeat. God, help him. God.  _Help him._  What was self-restraint? What was shame? Distant memories, it seemed, fading ever faster.

He fondled her reverently, but the tenderness of his touch did not jive with his lust. Desire whispered tempting things in his ear: hurry up, bury yourself, and tear at every exquisite inch of her body with abandon.  _When_  had he ever craved sex with such desperation? Not even at his most hormone-battered point of adolescence had he been so jittery, like he needed a hit. He could breathe in the heady atmosphere of sex in that bed, letting it fill his entire being and consume him in a potent, sustained high.

“Is this okay?” he checked, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger with delicate finesse.

“Yes,” Astrid answered.

She was biting her lip and Hiccup wanted to turn on the light. He wanted to watch her slip into a haze of pleasure, to see every minute change his affections elicited. But there was a mood to maintain, and he couldn’t pry himself from her if he tried. That night, she was everything: his universe, and all its moons and stars and gravity. He was drifting through her space and time, lost, and not wanting to be found. He ventured deeper. His kisses fell over the swell of her breasts, and the way she carded her hands through his hair could only be a good thing.

“You’re good at this,” she remarked.

Hiccup chuckled, making sure his amused puff blanketed her free nipple. She whimpered quietly, but he heard it.

“Trial and error isn’t quite as sexy as you think it is. I’ve gotten this wrong more than I’ve gotten it right. More times than I care to admit.”

“With Heather?”

Hiccup felt his stomach drop. Astrid sure cut to the quick, and it was a buzzkill. His desire had been stopped in its tracks, as if hit by a tranquilizer.

“I, ah…y-yes. That’s…she was…I’m a quick study,” he said with a shrug. Regrouping, he quirked an eyebrow. “I do like to share my knowledge on the subject.”

Astrid smiled. Her fingers played along his sharp jawline. “Nice to know you can focus on  _something_.”

Hiccup was taken aback for a second, then he smirked. “Oh, hey now! I would have you know my attention span is a mile long when my interest is piqued.”

Astrid nodded toward his waning erection. “Well, I’ve clearly ‘peaked’ something.”

“Are we making  _dick jokes_  now? Really?”

“Is laughing a kind of foreplay?” She was giggling, eyes shining in the darkness—bright and full of mirth.

Hiccup rolled his eyes with playful exasperation. “It can be; and you’re distracting me!”

He shook his head, but held her in his stare as he brought his lips to a breast. She was still giggling. It became gasp at the first flick of his tongue against an unsuspecting nipple. She arched, then melted. Her head lolled to the side, resting on a nest of her hair; and it was surreal how perfect she looked. He doubted his bed had entertained anything more gorgeous. It was all he wanted to do for her: give her bliss; do her right. She closed her eyes and indulged in the sensation of his mouth, sucking in time to the dance of his thumb over her other nipple. And his cock was fully awake again.

Astrid initiated as much contact as she could. Her legs tangled with his, and she mapped out the curvature of his spine; the margins of his narrow waist; the dimples in the small of his back and the way they pointed her to the globes of his ass. She gave his backside a shy little squeeze, and he grinned around her nipple. Her hands flirted on the bones of his hips, deliberating how far they wanted to go.

“Hiccup?”

Her voiced punctured the summer serenade of crickets and cicadas. The insect symphony was not exactly Marvin Gaye, but it had its own charm and romantic ambiance.

“Hmm?” he replied.

His tongue laved over that hardened bud, undoubtedly rosy in the light, with a unique sweetness befitting the more loving and vulnerable side of her that he had somehow managed to coax out. 

“Is there…a particular way you like to be touched?” Astrid’s fingers raked through the auburn thicket beneath his navel.

His heart fluttered. He planted a parting kiss on her breast before raising his head to look her in the eye, to gauge her level of comfort.

“Would you like me to tell you, or show you?” he asked.

Her breath caught. “Show me.”

Hiccup rolled back from her and propped himself up on one elbow. He took one of her uncertain hands, and her fingers uncurled with his assured guidance. When she gripped his rigid flesh, it was his turn to be breathless. Even though her hand was twitchy and awkward, it was heaven to feel a different fist closing around his shaft. He took a moment to luxuriate in it, ignoring the peculiarity of another hand between him and his cock.

“You can hold it tighter,” he said. “You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

Astrid squeezed hard and his erection throbbed. She smiled. “I appreciate the feedback.”

Hiccup laughed. “It’s uh…certainly responsive. Probably more honest and forthcoming than I am.”

He moved her hand slowly, in a rhythm more comfortable for her nerves than his need. She was riveted, watching the tandem stroking with fascination.

“Is it good?” she asked, blue eyes large and earnest in the moonlight. “I mean, I know you’d’ probably prefer a little more—“

“It’s great,” he said, leading her into a faster pace. “You’re touching me. I have no complaints.” He released her hand. “There. Are you okay?” He actually gave her an inquisitive thumbs-up.  _Weak._

“I think I’ve got it.” She nodded, though the motion of her fist was still a bit erratic.

“Just a little faster…loosen your grip by a hair…” Then, a sudden surge of euphoria washed over Hiccup. He moaned when she hit the sweet spot between pressure and speed. “Ohh,  _that’s_ nice.”

Astrid was pleased with herself. She was also a fast learner, or at the very least, a determined perfectionist. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and her brow was furrowed in concentration. Jerking him off wasn’t a particularly challenging task, but she was all-in. It was cute. Hiccup would’ve snickered if it weren’t for his brain fogging over.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. Astrid sighed and leaned into him, and he could feel the vigorous effort of her wrist throughout her entire frame. One of his hands fell on her hip, while the other he caressed her breasts. He probably could never grow tired of it; of learning and worshiping her figure. Not that it was the most important thing, but Astrid had an incredible body. He couldn’t believe that he was blessed enough to enjoy her, to learn her secrets and erogenous zones.

For her to moan as she did—when he touched her  _just_  right—and for  _him_  to be the cause, was a privilege he didn’t deserve. His lips began to follow his fingers, tasting her skin. He discovered she liked to be nipped, and she preferred the languid drag of his tongue to sucking’s monotony.

They were both moaning, mingled with faint gasps and hot, open-mouthed kisses. He may have given her a hickey he couldn’t quite make out in the dark. Oops.

It was all so relaxed and easy, despite their almost feverish hunger for one another. Astrid was alive and free, like she wanted. She was unbound by anyone, indulging her desires on her terms. Just when Hiccup thought he couldn’t want her any more, she’d make a sound, or give him a look, and he was further gone.

“Please?” she asked, and it was enough to break the last of his self-control.

He was fully on top of her, and her arms and legs locked around him in a possessive hold.

“Are you sure you want this?” he almost forgot to ask, one last time. “Are you sure you want  _me_?”

Astrid traced his lips with her fingertips, and he turned his head to kiss her palm. “You keep asking, and my answer hasn’t changed."

“And I am forever grateful for that,” he replied. “So, if it’s alright…”

His hand slipped between their bodies. He was cautious and gentle, watching every one of her microexpressions as best he could. She was so wet for him, and squirming against his fingers. But what had him most was her soft, shuddering exhale, and the sweet smile that followed it. It wasn’t meant for him. She was looking up at the ceiling, having an internal celebration.

“It gets better,” Hiccup murmured. He found her clit, rubbing it in small circles.

She moaned, her legs clenching him tighter. “Do pulses.”

He quirked an eyebrow, taken aback. “Come again?”

“Pulse with your thumb. Don’t rub. It always feels better when I…” she trailed off, and cleared her throat.

Hiccup _could’ve_  said he tried not to think of her masturbating to the thought of him, but he would’ve have been lying. His cock twitched, and the warmth emanating from between her legs was a siren’s song, calling him to wreck there.

“What else?” he asked, changing his ministrations to her request. His voice was huskier to even his own ears.

A pale arm fell to his sheets, clutching them tightly. She held his gaze, full lips parted, and he knew.

His long fingers were good for far more than playing piano—a skill his father has insisted he learn for some arbitrary talent to bank. But Hiccup preferred  _this_  talent: the way he slid them so smoothly through a tight channel of muscle; into a slick, ineffable paradise. One finger first, then the second.

Astrid gasped. Her back arched, and her nails dug into his shoulder blade.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked. His hand was still, though he was knuckle-deep.

“N-no! No, it’s just…” she wiggled her hips, “different.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Not unless you want me to throttle you.”

Hiccup smirked and Astrid snickered in spite of herself.

“Threatening me? Am I being sexually coerced here?” he teased.

“I don’t know.” She shimmied her shoulders. “Do you feel coerced?”

He shook his head, wiping the grin from Astrid’s face with the slow and deliberate thrust of his fingers.

“It’s going to feel something like this, but more intense,” he told her.

His fingers were mindful pistons, moving in long strokes. His thumb fluttered over her clit in the way she had said she liked, and she blossomed for him. Writhing, her delighted mewls were a spectral fist around his aching cock.

“Please, Hiccup,” she said, between mesmerizing heaves of her chest. “I’m  _tired_.”

Hiccup did not think she meant her energy level.

He kissed her lips. “I know. This is the most ‘you’ that you have ever been. Thank you for letting me see it.”

“So, what do you think?”

“You’re lovely.”

Astrid gazed back at him with a fondness he didn’t dare consider. It wouldn’t matter come daylight anyway. Their feelings one another—whatever they were—would be smothered by the exhaust of an old tailpipe and the dust of the road, kicked up in the wake of truck tires.

“One moment,” Hiccup murmured.

He withdrew his fingers and Astrid groaned in disappointment. It was a miserable thing, but only temporary, as he peeled her limbs from him.

“Where—?”

“It’s just a second,” he said, pushing off from the bed.

He retrieved his long-discarded jeans and fished around for his wallet. Behind one of the dividers was a foil package he had purchased on a whim and wishful thinking.

“Oh. Right,” Astrid muttered sheepishly. "I’m glad you were…you thought ahead.”

Hiccup tore open the package and settled back over her.

“Don’t sing my praises just yet. Forethought is an exception where I’m concerned, not the rule.”

Astrid laughed quietly, drawing him into her tight embrace. Hiccup had not realized how cold his trailer was—how harshly the AC blew—until he was enveloped her warmth again.

He put on the condom, tossing the foil God knew where—likely shaking His divine head in disappointment. Oh well. Hiccup would be damned for far worse, he was sure.

The head of his length was at Astrid’s entrance, and one last affirmative eye contact was the only permission he needed. His own heart stopped for a full beat, and he held his breath as he sank into her. Every inch of him that was engulfed by heat released another bit of tension. He had two years-worth. It was the sense of solace and relief that pleasuring oneself could not replicate.

Astrid was curled up, clinging to him, with her eyes shut. Once he was fully sheathed in her sex, her face relaxed one muscle at a time. Hiccup dared not move, though everything in him was screamed to thrust and grind with abandon and selfish disregard. Perspiration erupted along his lip and the nape of his neck.

“Tell me when you’re comfortable,” he told her through clenched teeth.

Astrid shifted and his arms shook.

“It’s…It’s  _really good_ ,” she murmured.

Hiccup released the breath he was holding. He rolled his hips and when she moaned, he moved with more confidence. Until that moment, he had not understood the full scope of his deprivation; how much he had longed for intimacy. Higher thought took a backseat. There was no need for it as he rocked into her. Sensation and instinct was the driving forces, peppered with acquired skill. He adjusted his angle and force to earn the most titillating moans, and Astrid was happy to oblige. She was vocal enough.

His hand cupped her thigh, supporting the weight of her leg. He held it flush against him. It was almost perfection: the thin layer of latex was the only damper on things.

Astrid’s head was thrown back. Her hand was splayed over his spine. The other clawed at the pillow beneath her with every thrust. The sensations—every sight, sound, and smell that was her—filtered down to Hiccup’s center, coalescing into a tightening knot of pleasure. He was emboldened as long as she was twisting, pushing her hips toward him wantonly. 

Raw need grew more dominant. He thrust into her with the building momentum of pent up desire and sexual frustration. Each drive into her body sent sparks along his nerves. On the withdrawals, the resulting grasp of his cock by Astrid’s body made him breathe raggedly. He couldn’t say how long he moved over her, only that the end of one hour had blended into the beginning of the next. Both of them were sporting a veneer of sweat and pheromones. The song of Southern midnight, chirping outside, had been muted by the incessant creak of box springs beneath them.

Sex was good. It was fantastic. But it had never been so  _exquisite._

Hiccup supported himself with one arm. He teased her clit, playing in the delicate folds over the fluid grinding of their bodies. Astrid put up no resistance. She accepted every roll of his hips with pleasure. Maybe he was just too desperate, and too eager, but he could not recall ever feeling so delirious while deep in the throes of passion.

Astrid’s thighs trembled on either side of his waist, and it spurred him on. She was  _right_  at the precipice, and he had delivered her there. It was wonderful, and terrible at the same time. He didn’t want it to end, but in his sex-addled mind, he also wanted to see first rays of sunrise dance over her bare skin.

“Ohh, Hiccup!” she yelped. “Ahh! Ahh! _Ahhh_!”

She clenched around him. Spasms wracked her, and she whimpered something unintelligible in the crook of his neck. He was her lifeline as she was tossed about in the torrent of orgasm. His hips snapped through her tantric squirming, milking every last bit of her ecstasy. He could feel the goosebumps spreading over her skin. Her cries were delectable—a perfect note that contained the whole of them. He reveled in her release; there was no sweeter sound and no more flattering a compliment.

“Yes,” he panted in her ear. His hand moved from her clit to her back, to hold her against him as she came back down. He rocked into her body still. “This is how it’s supposed to be.” He wanted that message to sink in, so she never settled for anything less than what he had given her.

Astrid purred weakly. There was a vague bucking of her hips to keep cadence with his, but she need not worry about it. There was no stopping his own release.

He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing her in. It took only a few more thrusts for him to follow suit. He let the knot burst, and his own ecstatic cry was muffled against her clavicle. The word was a blinding white euphoria that last a few eternal seconds. A deep, visceral moan then tore from his throat. He, too, was adrift. The jerk of his hips was involuntary as he spent every last drop he had inside her.

Why was he leaving Georgia? He couldn’t remember anymore…

Astrid pulled away, settling back against the pillow. Hiccup opened his eyes as she unwrapped herself from him, and he missed the embrace immediately. There was something beautiful—almost poetic—in the way their bodies melded together. But like that, it was over, and the reality of it sank in. The irreversibility of their actions was clear: Hiccup had burned through her virginity like a brushfire. Astrid did not seem the least bit regretful or perturbed—but he was still there, inside her; a tangible lover that would be gone in a few hours’ time.

The silence was not as heavy as he had anticipated. They studied one another. The room came back into focus and he could hear the crickets and cicadas again, but it wasn’t as pleasant as the sounds of sex. He tried to steady his breathing.

Tender fingertips walked over his features with puzzling determination. But they were at peace. The past months of push-pull, resolved. He was glad, and by the look on her face,  _she_ was glad—and he kissed her, because nothing else seemed more appropriate.

He slid out of her, muttered an apologetic, “Be right back,” and trudged to the bathroom to put himself back together.

The peeling linoleum was cold on his feet, but more distressing was the smug, self-satisfied young man in the mirror. Hiccup hated him, bitterly thinking,  _‘You’re leaving her like this, you ass.’_ And his buzz died. The swagger was gone as he returned to the bedroom. 

Astrid was curled up in the sheets, with her eyes were closed, and the hint of a smile gracing her lips.

Hiccup sighed and dragged his hand over his face. He had a penchant for leaving a trail of mistakes behind him. A different town in a different state, and he was  _still_  the same disappointment that had fled from Berk when the winter semester ended.

He crawled into bed beside her, careful not to disturb her. But she was still awake.

“Hey,” she murmured, teetering somewhere on the cusp of sleep.

“Hey,” he replied. The temptation to spoon was strong, but he didn’t think himself worthy to touch her anymore; to make a bigger mess of things.

She yawned, finding his arm and draping it across her. The warmth of her skin was too inviting. He relented, closing the space between them and burying his face in her hair. 

After all his errors in judgment, what was one more?

“Astrid?” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“Don’t…give the time of day to anyone who doesn’t care for you at least as much as I do.”

“I won’t,” were possibly the last words she’d ever say to him.

And the remaining hours raced by. Hiccup couldn’t sleep. The darkness gave way to the first soft bands of sunrise, and all too soon, he had to extract himself. California or bust.

He kissed Astrid’s shoulder with a pang in his chest, told her he had to leave; but all he got in return was a half-coherent mumble. At least she was comfortable, and for the moment, content.

Outside, he could hear the voices of Eret and Astrid’s father, and the roar of a pickup truck calling to him. His suitcase was nearly ready to go. He had just the one. A quick shower, then he gathered his rumpled clothes from the foot of the bed. After the last use of his toiletries, he was fully packed. No more stalling.

Where there had once been excitement for his trip West, there was only disappointment. But he had plans: a hope of establishing himself apart from his past. He had to prove to himself that he could make it, and be somebody independent of his father and the family fortune. Maybe then, he could be worthwhile?

Lingering in the doorway, he gave Astrid’s sleeping form one more glance, trying to memorize it. Then he grabbed his suitcase and stepped out into the humid Southern morning. Oddly enough, he would miss it.

Eret waved to him, and traversing the few yard from his trailer to that pickup truck was the hardest thing Hiccup had ever done.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone who has left kudos, and especially those who have commented. Your feedback means a great deal to me. I am so glad I could write an enjoyable story for you. <3

Astrid grabbed her suitcase from the baggage carousel, pulling up on the handle and walking toward the automatic doors. The wheels clacked loudly on the polished floor, and everything was an exciting hum of loved ones reuniting among booming announcements over the PA system. People were a colorful blur; children running about laughing and screaming; businessmen and women cutting her off with self-important strides. 

She hardly noticed any of it. Her peripheral vision wasn’t working. Everything was converging upon the exit and the bright, California sun blazing beyond it.

She took a few steadying breaths, feeling her palm sweat against the cool plastic handle as she dragged her suitcase along. The air conditioning was blowing, powerful enough to warrant a sweatshirt, but Astrid felt hot. Her skin prickled and her hair stood on end. 

A couple months of occasional emails had not prepared her to see Hiccup again. She had thought, boarding the plane with excitement, that it would be easy and right—that there was nothing remotely insane about flying across the country for some young man she hardly knew. But she saw the folly in the line of thinking as her flats scuffed along the floor. Her feet were like cinder blocks. Her breath and her rushing pulse were too loud in her head. She swallowed thickly, beginning to feel a tremor in her arm that extended all the way down to her fingers.

The automatic doors opened and she was assaulted by glaring sunlight and a blast of warm air. She blinked rapidly, using her other hand as a visor, scanning the line of cars idling for arrivals. There was the briefest panic as she squinted, seeing no familiar faces in a very strange and busy airport.

“Hey!”

Her stomach flipped with alarm or elation; it didn’t really matter one way or the other. The voice was familiar, and it had sometimes been a static rasp into the receiver of a payphone while she lied curled up in her dorm room, holding tight to that plush dragon. She had missed that voice. Hiccup sounded better, much sweeter in person; and it was a summer’s daydream all over again to see him jogging toward her, with a wide grin and those faded blue jeans she loved so much.

“I’m down there at the back of the line. You’ll have to excuse the state of my car. It’s secondhand and it looks like it shouldn’t be running, but it’s got enough life left in it to get us where we need to—!”

Astrid released the handle of her suitcase, and it toppled on to the pavement, but she couldn’t care less. Her hands knotted in his shirt, pulling him forward for a long, slow kiss. His arms came around her and it  _was_ easy, and it  _was_ right; and foregoing Spring Break in Cancun with her roommate was the best decision she had ever made: a decision made entirely for herself. She could get used to the habit.

“Hi,” Hiccup breathed against her lips.

“Hi,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

And they were pressed into one another, and it was like August—not March—and he had never left.

**Author's Note:**

> I write for free. If you enjoy what I do, please leave a kudos or, better yet, a comment! I would be so deeply appreciative! :) I'm also on Tumblr: e--wills.


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